Epitaph Empress
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: A retelling of the Myth of Hades and Persephone. The young Goddess of Spring is stolen from fields of grain to fields of spirits as Queen and Bride of dark Hades...
1. Dramatis Personae

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: This is my bash at a retelling of my favourite Greek Myth; the myth of Hades and Persephone. I know there are loads of (brilliant) retellings of this myth here* and I'm not trying to rip off a single one. This is just my go at the classic myth. This is looking to be a pretty long multi-chapter fanfic so please be patient. Also, the beginning of each part begins with a poem (just to set the scene), for all those who like my poems! I hope you enjoy reading it (and faithfully review - my happiness depends on feedback)!  
  
Prologue : Dramatis Personae  
  
The Goddess of many names,  
  
One name to adorn one identity  
  
Like a Queen's crown of blazing gems  
  
Or a maiden's wreath of blossoms  
  
She proudly wears, their weight upon chestnut hair;  
  
As her wildflowers and meadows become her world  
  
As does death and solitude, the fate she must love.  
  
She is the Epitaph Empress.  
  
She dances in sunlight,  
  
Basking in innocence,  
  
Roaming in the shadows,  
  
Crying for release and from release given  
  
Lips upon sweet pomegranates  
  
Rich, stained red, ripe with temptation  
  
As winter's embrace beckons.  
  
She is the Epitaph Empress.  
  
Sweet child, virgin daughter of spring,  
  
Prisoner and Queen, strapped in bonds of gold  
  
Dark sovereign with a heart of warmth and life, aglow with love  
  
Rips red with the sweet poison of her husband's fruit,  
  
A wild and delicate bloom bursting against darkness,  
  
Ripe for the picking  
  
The destroyer of the light.  
  
She is the Epitaph Empress.  
  
Goddess of life and death, coldest fear and loneliness  
  
Attended by mournful shadows  
  
And dancing nymphs  
  
She leaps into the air;  
  
Dishevelled, ripe, young and alive  
  
And flowers sing free from sorrow's grasp  
  
As grey death bids her farewell, an epitaph to love.  
  
She is the Epitaph Empress.  
  
Dramatis personae, her identity  
  
To the Goddess that lived in death  
  
Moving from sunlight to shades,  
  
The virgin lover of both worlds, loved by all  
  
Their devoted fervour know her differently, nature and decay  
  
As she leaves their grief for hope anew  
  
As pomegranates glisten in the warm spring breeze.  
  
She is our Epitaph Empress.  
  
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* There are many brilliant and diverse ones out there, and some amazing and talented authors. Some of my personal favourite retellings would have to be the following:  
  
Hades, on the subject of Persephone by B. Fisher (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=540459) - not quite a 'retelling' but a brilliant and clever poem.  
  
I Won't Say It by Melora Maxwell (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=855760)  
  
The Blooming of Night's Fever by Moonstone Tears (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=889233)  
  
The Daughter of Demeter by Jurious (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=969804)  
  
The Goddess Who Died by Gale (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=968870)  
  
The Myth of Kore and Hades - a revision by Amberlaine (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=365926)  
  
The Tale of the Seasons by Erin (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=877129)  
  
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- 


	2. Liber Primus : Maiden Goddess

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Notes: This is the first part (of five - each one with several chapters) to my retelling of the Myth of Hades and Persephone, my poem basically summing up her current identity - as daughter to Demeter, Maid, Goddess of Spring and Lady of the Grain. The Latin means 'The First Book' for all those who are interested.  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Liber Primus : Maiden Goddess  
  
She bears innocence as she would bear a flower,  
  
With grace and naïve love  
  
Trusting it to solve all problems,  
  
Right all wrongs  
  
And bring love to all frozen hearts.  
  
She lives within her mother  
  
Her maternal warmth,  
  
The silken depths of her love,  
  
Her laughing eyes  
  
And guiding hands;  
  
Teaching her the ways of the earth.  
  
She waltzes through clouds of blossoms,  
  
Carried by the song of the wind  
  
On nimble feet - bare and grass-stained.  
  
She dances with sweet abandon, innocent disregard  
  
In pristine white, adorned by devoted flowers  
  
Earthly hair, flying strong and free on the grace of the air.  
  
In love with the free meadows of Sicily,  
  
The realm of her imagination.  
  
This is her world,  
  
Her world of laughter, warmth, the scent of flowers,  
  
Her world of sunshine kissing her rosy skin,  
  
Her world of kindness with duty,  
  
The bountiful domain of Demeter  
  
The land in the throes of love  
  
Between mother and daughter  
  
That sweet, unconditional promise of affection.  
  
Bonds unbroken; still constant and nurturing  
  
Comforting and caring,  
  
Protecting; the safest place to be  
  
Never alone.  
  
As she watches her mother's gentle ministrations  
  
Alight the grain with brightness and tender summers  
  
And bring the harvest to dazzling life.  
  
In flocks of golden grain, bathing fields  
  
In all of summer's glory  
  
As mother and daughter tend the harvest  
  
With loving hands  
  
Bringing life to their home of sunshine.  
  
And sweet Persephone dances on  
  
In illusioned seas of blooms and green  
  
A beacon of golden, ripe youth  
  
Alive with courted innocence, wandering through paradise  
  
White and pure. 


	3. Chapter I

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: An actual chapter! Don't worry, the whole story wasn't going to be told through poetry - I just like including them at key points and I think it's fairly original. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Unfortunately, they're all somewhat shorter than my one-chapter stories but - naturally - it's all going to add up to something *much* longer so I suppose it evens out somewhere. Happy reading!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter I  
  
Silence. Not even a fresh chill born of dreary spirits wandering in, lost and solitary entered the throne room of Hades, God of the Dead and Lord of the Underworld. Silence echoed off silence throughout the sombre halls of a kingdom of darkness. All grey stone slabs that made up the dreary domain were bathed in shadow, the vast riches and wealth diminished by decaying stillness that shrouded and encompassed everything, drowning the underground realm in swathes of night and dark loss. From the gates of black oak where loyal Cerberus guarded with vicious vigour to the cold throne room and it's splendid decorum, ruined by shades and clusters of the shadows cast over the Underworld, crying out in a silent wail of grief, the scenery all different, the theme disturbingly monotonous. Everywhere - death, decay, darkness. Nothing more. No light ever shone in the lifeless world of memories and mourning, no laughter ever rang through the lonely halls.  
  
In that chamber of silence and solitude - splendid in vivid detail and carvings, beautiful in its darkness but repulsive in its soulless ruin, without warmth or pity, a solemn room of dust and ancient air, it's musky aroma once grand, now a wretched stench of rot to a young nose, sat the dark Lord in a throne of obsidian. Like his divine brothers he was nothing short of magnificent in his grandeur of appearance but unlike brothers Zeus and Poseidon of rich appeal, Hades - though handsome - was built of the cold element of terror and his very appearance could strike sharp and overwhelming fear in the hearts of the bravest. Like his brothers, he was tall and well-built with sharp, straight and proud shoulders, shrouded in silken materials of onyx-black, even darker hair draped those strong, broad shoulders. His very being seemed like ancient shadows given form, like night eternally fallen, without glittering stars or a solitary and pale surface of a glowing harvest moon. Each muscle, each facet, each dark fabric, each sinew, each separate hair seemed to be created from that darkness that shrouds the most hidden and lost parts of a troubled soul. Tall, imperious and intimidating, his darkness shunning and destroying any sallow remnants of brightness, his aura devoid of the almost human fondness and fumbles of his immortal brethren. He was every inch the God; immersed in his divine duties, with nothing else to occupy his time, without any of the human weaknesses of other immortals, if only because of his alienation from their world of turbulent feelings.  
  
Emerging proudly from the raven-black hair - straight as an arrow's flight - falling like settling dust against draped shoulders was his face, carved from pale marble in starlight, boasting handsome but serious, loveless features. His skin was as pale as alabaster, without a trace of life suggested, his features sharp, and his hair never falling in its sight and wrath, always distanced and devoid of wildness. His jaw and chin were strong, his lips thin and drawn into an emotionless line and his nose thin and proud, like that of a statue, his forehead high, almost bulging. His icy eyes were deep-set and were gravitating and devastating in their hypnotic beauty but without a trace or shred of warmth. They were graced with a thousand sharp blue shades, each one cold almost to cruelty but with the looming shadows of despair faintly hovering within dark irises and candles of the eye, revealing the very soul of darkness. But dark and lonely.  
  
The deep shades of solitude were quickly drowned once more beneath the thick ice of his pragmatic gaze, without passions of his brothers and sisters, without their love and hatred, their joys and sorrows. All he had was one passion - that desperate feeling of an aching loneliness, the longing to dispel it, to bring some brightness into his dreary world of grief and spirits. At many times he had congratulated himself on being so different to his divine family, without their shameless needs and open hearts to ruin with such anger, affection, jealousy, sadness and loss. It made them weak and caused them to stray from their all-important duties. But he was caught in the violent throes of a moment of reflection that told the solemn tale of yet another grim truth - that though their flaws, mistakes and foolhardy ways rarely ended in happiness for all involved and made them so akin to their mortal subjects, they were truly alive and fresh with feeling. Whilst he was as dead as all who passed through his realm of monotony and obsidian.  
  
Of course, their own duties were simpler, whilst his required much more time and sacrifice. It was a sacrifice The Fates must have bestowed upon him as his destiny, he mused and should not be questioned in a malcontent moment. However, these malcontent moments were not rare occurrences. Time slipped by at a snail's pace, tangible but barely without sunlight to record the days and as each lonely moment slipped by into a new black mood he would long for a change. More chances to freely wander and be welcomed into the passionate worlds of those closest to him. Perhaps some company in the empty chambers, echoing of lost life.  
  
He had never taken a bride, never found a Goddess that stirred the longing and passionate fires within him that often visited the loins of his brother Zeus. Nor had any Goddess showed any affection or desire to have him as a husband and become his Queen. Without the necessary feelings that accompany a need for marriage, it seemed unnecessary to his logical mind to even consider having a Lady to bring life and love to his cold world yet he knew from a wise mind that there was much joy to be found in matrimony and love. Perhaps a wife would be a desirable thing within his lonely life? Company alone would be enough at times. But then, he was driven by the sting of feeling completely at a loss - he had nothing to offer a bride but a world of torment and misery. It was hopeless.  
  
Then his pragmatic self returned on swift wings, beating the carcass of pointless despair from his mind, flinging it out unceremoniously with violent urgency. He had no need for a wife! Yes, he was the loneliest of Gods without company, life or laughter but none had ever stirred any living feelings within him. He was reminded of his duties to his realm, not to drift away into the realm of Aphrodite on a flight of fancy. Perhaps indeed he had a great heart, but it was not to be found.  
  
A brief, chilling shudder coursed like heated blood through the dead chamber, the sound of yet another soul departing from the world of mortals, flying on stale, stifling air and descending into the dying lull of his domain of spitting shadows, clawing at the remaining life in the stronger spirits. He sighed for a moment, determined to take his stray thoughts away from the hauntings of loneliness, of the staining emptiness of the teased wound it created inside his own hollow spirit. All seemed to be both part of and built from time's relentless enmity, all lost in such a dark, eerie realm of isolation.  
  
With imperious agility, he stood up and majestically strode away from his dark throne and the huge, empty chamber, without any sound independent of him. A brief but burning hate against it raged momentarily within his heart before being frozen in a bone-chilling frenzy of shrouding shadows and piercing ice. He felt the main hall without pith or feeling and wandered for a brief moment of freedom from the bony grasp of his duties, a chance to break away from the same four walls for a moment. Each step was well thought-out in appearance, his dark presence looming dangerously over faded souls and he proudly walked through the mourning cloisters of the Underworld, stopping only to pat the three threatening heads of Cerberus and to gaze over the river Styx. To gaze at the tangible sorrows it represented, misery given form, their cries shattering against cold walls. For a moment, he understood and plunged headlong once more into a driving melancholy. This was his life, his soul, his duty. To tend these caterwauling spirits and rule in the decaying turrets of his castle of shadows.  
  
He paused, taking in his world, before retreating once more back to the frozen embrace of his throne room, to carry out the bonds of his duty. He pushed away these creeping, climbing thoughts that wrapped their long, grey fingers around his mind and dreams and returned to the familiar hold of logic and reason. There he remained in his solitary kingdom, with a wish in vain for just a moment of light, a single example of life.  
  
Even if it was merely a single flower. 


	4. Chapter II

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Second chapter here and as Moonstone Tears put it - enter Persephone stage left! On a note, this chapter is basically an introduction to Persephone and her character. Thanks to all my reviewers and a little message to Kate; I would have to make this fic into a 400+ page published novel and it *still* wouldn't make your work look like that of a five year old! Your version of this is bloody fantastic and so very beautiful (and *highly* recommended to anyone that hasn't had the delight of reading it yet). So no putting yourself down! ^_^  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter II  
  
The warming, shimmering rays of Helios gently filtered through a maze of outstretched tree branches, their healthy green leaves burning a deeper green yet, the sunlight pouring down onto a quiet, remote stream, surrounded by garlands of inquisitive wildflowers. In the thick of summer's rapture, the translucent water's song awakened wildlife, nymphs in their natural sensuality, slumbering blossoms and beckoned the innocent Goddess of Spring.  
  
Persephone, Spring's virgin Goddess, loyal and innocent daughter of Demeter, Lady of the Harvest and highest priestess to her kind mother's duty to the grain and land. Craving a momentary escape from a desert of ripe, fertile land spun from golden crops, burning like the threads of the sunlight itself, she had wandered away from the protective embrace of Demeter to the nurturing embrace of nature, her half-siblings by her mother's guiding hand. In the forest of deep, changing colours, each more brilliant than the last, she surrendered to the whispers of her imagination and majestic dreams caressing the smooth shores of her mind's eye. She wandered, solitary and content into the thickness of a thousand hues of blazing green and soft shades of the flowers, the earth itself her constant companion, stark and silent in its tender love for the young immortal.  
  
Young she was, short and slender in build, her skin pale as marriage sheets yet to be used, untouched by man or god and still ivory and rosy whilst other maidens bronzed in sunshine and the call of suitors. Her young form, newly ripened into adult beauty and unconscious allure with the mould of enviable curves and breasts, straight, strong and proud as a young elm was clothed in a simple light gown of pristine white to allow freedom of movement, its unadorned shades like the thick morning fog, concealing all the beauty of her form. Her hands and feet were child-like and delicate, her small feet embroidered by grass and stray flowers, the scent of heavy lavender and wild plants and fruits cloaking her. From long legs, dancing feet, diminutive hands, thin arms and small, perfectly sculpted and rounded young breasts she rivalled many a lovely Goddess but her face and hair stole even the abundant glory from those details.  
  
Her rosy-cheeked but pale, sweet face was of delicate features - strong cheekbones, a graceful, elfin nose, small but lush lips like dewy petals freshly plucked from a wild rose, battling between passionate red and blushing pink and curving dark eyebrows. Her long-lashed eyes were wild, desperate, dreamy, loving, imaginative and naïve all in one moment of emerald green and were shaded by a cluster of greens painted all the dancing, strong shades of Sicily's free meadows. They glittered with such brilliant and tempestuous feelings that at times it was impossible whether she was a childlike woman or a woman with the eyes of a child, gazing innocently at a world painted to idealistic perfection.  
  
Her hair was the crown of her glory, a thick tumble of long, abundant nut- brown locks caressing her back and shoulders, burning with the quiet gentle beauty of the nurturing, tender earth itself as warm as the comforting embrace of sleep and shining with threads of burning copper and gold when hit with bright arrows of sunlight. It was wild and dancing in the breeze, flying out like a grand cape behind her, adorned only by a wreath of wildflowers, mismatched by colour and she sat down by the gentle trickle of the flowing stream, losing herself to throes of relaxation, her only lover the beauty of the virgin world.  
  
She quietly settled down on the green boughs of the bank, her long, pale legs stretched out in front her, the sharp but welcome cold of the calming water teasing her feet. She knew that she would feel the unmistakable call of her mother's presence soon, as Demeter bestowed all the love of her great heart upon her one treasure, her daughter but with such waves of love came the drowning undercurrent of worry, a force almost as strong and consuming. This did not trouble the gentle Goddess, for she loved her attentive mother with a similar constant need and though the moments alone with her thoughts and growing ideas were appreciated, nothing was better than returning to her mother's thick embrace and sharing these thoughts to the Goddess of the Grain; her mother and closest friend, the outlet of her dreams, carer of her woes and ever-wise figure of her youth. Though she sometimes longed for company other than loyal nymphs and the odd God or Goddess now and then that Demeter found appropriate to converse with her child, the love of her mother was more important to her than all these things and so very necessary to the core of her being.  
  
She mused once more on her fellow immortals, dwelling far from peacefully and blissfully on the divine pinnacles of Olympus. Though they caused each other great troubles and wrath at times, they all seemed the greater and wiser from it and living the content life of a worshipped deity. She longed to have a chance to see more of them and more often - the opportunities to see her loving father, Zeus were few, as the chances to visit Olympus were scarce to both their regrets, therefore the grand hero and King of all Gods with his large heart dwelled mostly in the bright lair of imagination and the more faded cloisters of her memories. However, to expect Zeus to visit her upon the wide and earthly meadows of Sicily where her mother dwelt and tended to her duties was ridiculous, though her immortal half-siblings found such chances, even if their duties were less immediate than the mighty Zeus. In the immortals of Olympus she has found many close and true friends, their compassionate friendships forged from deep and powerful bonds, strong and true, though never truly tried.  
  
Hermes, God of Messages was her most constant visitor and most constant friend, apart from her affectionate mother and the sisterly guardians she found in the nymphs. Her heart glowed with laughter and sisterly love at the memory of his short, thin form, his untidy mass of unruly tawny curls for hair, his long nose and metallic eyes, glimmering a muted green, surmounted by thick shades of grey, like a cat's eyes; setting off his boyish grin, easy charm and simple flow of disarming humour and quick friendliness. Indeed, Hermes was a God who would instantly take a liking to someone and quickly form a strong bond of friendship soon after. The memory of the smiles he brought her kindled her soul with an affection to this brotherly God, waiting forever in anticipation of the next of many visits to her wild and free meadows.  
  
She had formed another close friendship with Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War, approved by Demeter as a tutor to Persephone in her early days in the realms of the world, to educate her in the ways of the world every now and then, in the hope that her daughter would mature into an intelligent and understanding but kindly Goddess. She chose her tutor well in Athena and was not disappointed. Athena had filled the early years of Persephone's life with the thrill of greedy learning, as the young immortal devoured her lessons in life and duty finding a gentle guide in all her troubles and a true friend in the wise Goddess with the sharp silvery eyes.  
  
Another deity Persephone had harboured a friendly fondness for was Aphrodite; Goddess of Love, though she found in the patron of passion someone of charismatic wicked humour and a childishly simplistic and sincere outlook at the world. . .and a friend amusingly disapproved of by Demeter! Warm and plentiful bouts of girlish giggles were sowed and reaped by the loving and smiling influence of beautiful, golden Aphrodite despite constant guilty blushes and laughs at the freeness of the Love Goddess' speech and at times blunt manner. Though at times she was a selfish and capricious friend, quick to jealousy and anger, she was swift to tearful, hasty reconciliation and brought an untamed element into the innocent world of the Goddess of Spring.  
  
This was the only love that ruled in the vast green boughs of the lands of her sweet heart - the love for her friends and the eternal devotion she shared with her mother, the figure as full of warmth as the sun on a tortured back, as nurturing as the blanket of soil to the golden stalks of the harvest of grain. The one who gave her life and directed her with her brightness and loving influence, caring her from the cradle, who taught her all she knew, who filled her earliest experiences to the brim with love; looking after her and singing to her. She had no knowledge of the burning passions and pleasures that dominated the songs and dances of her guardian nymphs, only knowing the embraces of her mother, the only kisses is her life the kisses of sun and rain bringing release and abundance to the land. She had no desire for man or God. She was happy.  
  
She spread the crooked blades of grass apart as she lay down, arms lazily coiled behind her head of chestnut velvet waves, amongst dew drops and scattered blossoms painted amethyst, garnet and amber all around her - the true jewels of the world. She lay down, idly gazing with absent longing at the white bellies of rolling and soaring clouds in the pastel-blue sky, taking in the moment, drawing it out, this one moment of pure peace. The one moment of innocent skies, full of dreams and longings, the thick, heady smell of the sweetness of flowers, blushing with pink against white, fuchsia against indigo, burning furiously with colour, blossoms shaded lapis lazuli caressed by the smooth hand of the light, crimson and deep purple petals battling for the status of the more brilliant shade, flecks of gold surrounding the battlefield of the blossom and other softer, more delicate shades seeming to sing to innocent Persephone.  
  
A stray petal, caught in the gentle arms of the wind, caught in her thick locks as she lay upon the grass, a world apart from the physical dominion, awakening her once more to it. Slowly, she drew herself up into a careless sitting position, the breeze pulling her dress tightly to her breasts and hips, betraying her young body.  
  
She reminded herself of the duties of the grain; it would not be right to not aid her mother, a mother too considerate of her daughter to demand her assistance. As High Priestess of Demeter, she had a responsibility over the harvest also.  
  
She stood up and prepared to wade through forest and meadows, these places that were home to her imagination, to return to her caring mother. Crossing a shallow brook, her sharp ears caught the chilling sound of the lamentation of a nymph. One of her sisters had fallen after the descent of many years, cried the song of the tears of her sisters. Persephone's blood ran cold then burnt fiercely with the depth of her love for her guardians as she tore desperately through streets of trees, the green glaring down on her, then unfolding branches, bark and twigs to allow her passage. To the gentle green hollow shrouded with the golden warmth of the sun that would become the deathbed of a nymph.  
  
And so rushing to her nymph sisters' aid, Persephone, Maiden Goddess of Spring saw death for the first time. 


	5. Chapter III

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: This is my take on the meeting between the two deities, though quite different to anything else I've ever read in mythology novels and fanfics (or so I hope), though the abduction is still a chapter or so off. Again, many thanks to my reviewers - I hope you like the latest instalment!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter III  
  
Nature, the cradle of every beginning in nurturing green became a deathbed.  
  
A flowerbed guarded by kindly tees next to a pristine lake became a tomb.  
  
Thus Persephone discovered her companions.  
  
Disbelief flooded the young Goddess of Spring's senses as her blood curdled and froze into a bitter, cold river of bitter ice, sleet and dread. She had never before known death in its darkest form; forever shielded from nature's harsher temperament by the cocoon of her mother's protectiveness. She had known the death of plants and known the priestesses that dutifully attended her and her mother to mature and age and then slip peacefully away into the embrace of memory, their warm spirits still hovering gracefully around their divine patrons, still full of love, still keenly attending. She had seen nymphs age and fade into the green womb of nature once more until finally becoming a wise and sturdy tree, offering shade and comfort of their branches, the beauty of the twists in their build and the sweetness of their fruit - their enriched gifts to the loved ones that remained. Though plants, sweet, devoted and kindly priestesses and matronly nymphs passed away into a greater realm, the thin threads of their lives never seemed to break. Their spirits and influence remained always, watching and guiding. They never seemed to die.  
  
But this time it was different.  
  
Death's cruel sword had visited Sicily and struck down life there in the form of a sinless wildfire, a force of nature - naïve in creation and destruction. Persephone had requested to join her mother in the healing of the scarred terrain but had - puzzlingly - been refused. Now the maiden Goddess knew why. The cold embrace of Thantos, burning and fervent with untamed flames, leaping and spiting, had struck down a scared tree and now its patron nymph - young Rhoda - must join it in its fiery grave.  
  
She felt a choking sensation overcome her fragile form at this heavy knowledge. The air became stifling, seeking to spite her with every breath she took, painfully reminding her that it was breath denied to her caring guardian, friend and sister. This was death; snatching away without word, warning or sympathy. Her deep green eyes darkened to a shrouding moss shade, stained. In that moment she grew in a way that escapes the years of the Fates in their withered glory, and at the same time she became younger, a lost little girl crying for her mother in the throes of a drowning, violent nightmares that brought hideous fears to terrible life. Just as life was stolen from this sweet nymph, no more to sing, dance, weep, laugh or scold.  
  
Persephone gazed at the beautiful creature, now filthy with life faded from her and the brightness of her spirit stolen into the shadows the young Goddess could not touch. She wanted to cry like a child, run away and pretend all was well, scream and rage in anger at nature and embrace her lost companion tightly with all the love in her gentle heart and protect her dying friend from the shrouded force that seemed to drain the warmth from her.  
  
The nymph Rhoda lay there, limp and still, her breathing ragged as though the flames that had engulfed her matronly tree were hands of fire, scorching her throat raw and burning the life from her young body with a blazing stranglehold. The plants and flowers that adorned her lithe body began to wilt and decay, her pigmented skin began to crumble from its smooth, sensual beauty into a mass of dust and rot, her wild mane of hair and vines thinning before her very eyes. Her eyes seemed to pale as her body did; something crucial being torn away from it yet clinging with every moment while this dark force began to make a brittle and hollow shell of her so-often animated and dancing form, bubbling with laughter and lessons with firm friendship.  
  
Each individual nymph reigned as queens in the young Goddess' heart, their domain growing ever larger with time and new memories and to be wenched away in so brutal and seemingly unnatural fashion was more than young Persephone could bear. It was though a vital part of her being was being roughly torn apart. It was unfair! Her sister was still so young, a mere sapling cruelly hacked down and burnt before fully maturing and experiencing all the rich treasures and wonders that life had to offer! It should not be that way, her mind cried out desperately, hoping her grief at this terrible loss might return her lost friend, as though life could be purchased through tormented tears.  
  
But whatever dealers of life and death out there in the furthest plane of being were not in a bargaining mood and tears interested them not, for they were always offered tears. Rhoda still lay there, feeling a dark embrace surround her, surrendering to the drowsiness that overcame her now frail body, ignorant to the lamentations of her sisters and Persephone - her lady, Goddess, pupil, charge, sister and dearest friend. In the corner of her mind, she heard the sheathing of the scissors of the three Fates, felt the cold metal press ominously against the very thin thread of her life force.  
  
Persephone, feeling too the haunting feeling of doom, fiercely clung to the poor nymph's cold hand, clinging to it tightly in a child's desperate grip, pressing all the warmth and brightness of her being through that comforting embrace. Her hold softened, though the love in it did not seem to falter or lessen, only grew as the innocent immortal clung not from her own need to be with her friend till the end but to offer all the comfort in her vulnerable soul. Her burning eyes created a channel between goddess and nymph, her love shining through the green meadows of her eyes, now flooded with the grieving waters of tears, barely contained. Dying Rhoda sighed and returned the gaze, her eyes offering a rich casket of wonders in such looks of love and devotion and sweet memories that could never be erased as she gazed into the emerald jewels of Persephone's deep gaze, now hidden treasures at the bottom of a lake of sorrows.  
  
They clung to each other, holding hands tenderly and the Fates seemed to stretch the moment in an act of mercy. And then the thread was cut, the nymph gone, Rhoda lost, her happy spirit stolen away to a world of eternal dusk, awaiting a merciful afterlife. The small cluster of mourning nymphs embraced one another in tearful embraces, lamenting the tragic loss.  
  
Persephone froze, disbelieving, an emptiness hollowing her soul. She felt a warm tangle run down her face, before absently noticing they were tears. At that, she collapsed into a fit of sobs, weeping into her small palms, aching from the terrible wound, still bleeding. The nymphs quickly stilled their grief and attended their lady and goddess, hearts ablaze with sympathy for the maiden to whom death was a stranger. They all held her gently, soothing her uncontrollable sobs until, trembling, Persephone drew her hands away from her red and raw face and pulled the now limp and dead hand of her companion in it, and kissed it tenderly. Shaking, she managed to struggle her way to her feet, shock, sadness and the sensing of her sisters' need battling tempestuously within her. She wiped her tears, holding a greater understanding of the nature of death, but with a dislike of its greedy nature. She spoke at last, knowing of her duties.  
  
"Sisters," she began, her melodious voice quavering "today we all feel the cold stab of the loss of one of us, of our sisterhood and loving circle. We have lost Rhoda. I grieve deeply and desperately. . .but I am ready to overcome my sorrow at her loss to do our sister one final honour; to rejuvenate this peaceful land that became her deathbed and to commit her body - body of one, once so very alive with joy and love and loved by us all - to my mother's tender mercy and to Gaia's care. Where our sister fell, a grand and beautiful tree shall stand, to remind all who visit of our dear, sweet friend."  
  
She stood, straight and proud and prepared herself for a duty she had never been able to prepare for. She shivered, not from fear of such a duty, but from the still sharp pains that haunted her mind. The overwhelming grief and knowledge Demeter had failed to hide from her.  
  
She faltered "But first I need a moment alone!" she cried, tears hovering again behind her eyes.  
  
Promptly the nymphs scattered in a flurry of all the neutral, earthy shades of nature, understanding completely. The young deity's mouth trembled and eyes burnt. Why she did not grant them leave to do as they must evaded her. Already, she missed her friend. Persephone stood alone, uncomprehending, hating death.  
  
*****  
  
A whisper, filled with passion and meaning began to disturb the stifling solitude and reverent silence of the Underworld. It raged through the icy onyx halls and chambers, burning them for a brief moment. Hades felt the brief presence fly through and dissolve, the feeling causing the normally stoic and cold Gold to shudder. It was something in direct opposition to his own temperament and utterly foreign in his dark, despairing realm. He had felt nothing like that one spark of intensity, nothing as powerful and provoking, there one minute and gone the next, lost to all the shadows of his domain.  
  
He recognised what it meant, of course. Somehow, an argument had been stirred between him and another immortal. How this happened eluded his sharp mind, for he could barely remember the last time he visited Olympus, feeling so alien, unwanted and shunned in all the brightness of the forms around him. And none visited the Underworld, hardly, apart from the occasional word from Hermes now and then but the small Messenger God was far too good-natured to suddenly hold a grudge without reason.  
  
A groan of impatience and annoyance escaped his icy, thin lips as he wondered how anyone could hold something against one whom they barely saw. Mostly the other deities languished in utter contentment, worrying only with the petty, trying to forget their dark, lonely brother forever busy with his vast, gloomy realm of death. How could a quarrel have begun? His refined brow creased - perhaps Eris had 'graced' Olympus with her spiteful presence and taken it upon herself to stir the bitter brew of discord among them. In that case, it was too insignificant to trouble himself with, as the wailing spirits of the Underworld constantly needed attending to, such was his great duty.  
  
Yet. . .the presence. . .the whisper. . .who had it belonged to? He did not recognise it as any of his better-known brethren. There had been anger, but it was certainly not that of Ares. There had been purity, but it neither belonged to Athena or Artemis. There had been a strange artistry to it but it was not the whispering prophecies and passions of Apollo. Neither did the passion within it belong to Aphrodite. And the great love somehow reminded him of his great-hearted sister Demeter, though it was not her that had disturbed his deathly quiet kingdom.  
  
The enigmatic persona had planted a bloom of curiosity within his logical mind. He was intrigued. Drawing himself up, towering and intimidating, he donned a shroud of shadow, as the very fibres of mortal realm was repulsed by the meaning of his presence and seem to hate him and quail away in horror, rejecting the Lord of the Underworld utterly. Leaving the grand throne, he was encircled in the grasp of darkness like the most nightmarish of nightfalls, ready to meet with this strange immortal unknown to him, that dared belittle all he did, all he was condemned to do alone.  
  
As the shadows around him shrunk away at the dazzling sunlight, he was astounded by the brightness. The sunlight shone a gentle golden-jade through the outstretched leaves and small patches of the long grass, adorned with forests of wildflowers, so delicate and flimsy, illuminated by a few rare shafts of pure brightness through the gaps in the protective branches. His dark aura seemed to eat away at this light, though the sheer intensity of such a stark contrast to all that he knew did not fail to awe even Hades, God of the Dead, cold in body and heart.  
  
Wearing darkness, the comfort and prison he loved and loathed in equal measure, he turned to face the immortal that dwelt in this fruitful paradise. Turned, and stopped in his tracks, frozen by something shocking he could not analyse nor overcome.  
  
There, standing amongst soft shades and scents, caressed by tender nature and gentle colours, a wreath of flowers upon her brow was the most enchanting creature he had ever beheld. Her form was fabulously lit by the sun setting, shaded a calming green by an army of fragile leaves, clothed in a simple pure white robe that betrayed both her naïve innocence and the devastating allure of such a ripe body. She was perfection made flesh. She stood as still as a marble statue, only her crystalline tears moved, her nut-brown locks dancing a slow, mournful dance with a sympathetic breeze, her eyes a maze of feelings and her small hands tightly clasped over her desirable bosom as if in prayer. Her aura seemed to be taken from all things that made the earth beautiful, and Hades felt its maddening gentleness and child-like brightness draw him like a moth to a flame, willing to die in the blaze if only it would quench the flames rising within him.  
  
The Lord of the Underworld felt his hand burst into flame, both longing to comfort this strange goddess and feeling the burning, teasing waves of desire flood into his hollow soul and drown him. It was an unnatural feeling, both a source of wonder and fear. He had never been a foolish victim of Aphrodite! Gazing at this innocent and sad maiden made him burn inside, eaten by such cruel and kind flames. How could she stir such feelings, without even speaking to him, or even moving? Yet it was not merely lust that tore down the icy defences of his blackened heart but something more, for the beautiful being before him. A longing for her; her brightness, the enormous love he sensed within her, an urge to hold her, comfort her. . .  
  
And beautiful she was! Like the flower at his foot, perfectly natural, unconscious in its beauty and so innocent and free. So different from the conventional beauty of grand, graceful and glorious Hera. Yet not like the disarming allure of golden Aphrodite - golden waves of hair, seemingly woven from the sun and a generous, lascivious body, voluptuous and delicate, scantily clad in thin silks that always seemed to tease with the wind, as though she had only just arisen from the sparkling foams of a Cyprus sea. Neither was she like Athena; strong and proud yet womanly and graceful, irresistible in the dangers of seeing that smooth, proud form, the goddess with the deep, powerful eyes of wisdom and abundant dark locks. Even Eris, the Goddess of Discord that stirred trouble between these three grand beauties was somewhat lovely herself, in a twisted yet lustful way, an appearance unnatural yet alluring; her flame-red hair and deep garnet eyes and ivory pallor each contrasting in their bombast, mismatched and incomparable.  
  
Yet this sweet young goddess left them all behind. She was too lovely, even for a divine being. She was ethereal. Her beauty shone through her eyes and aura, a force of power and passion. She was captivating and completely unaware of it. She had struck a chord deep within him, with something so different to him yet so recognisable also, something so similar. She was bewitching.  
  
Had she not turned around, sensing the slow creep of darkness disturbing the peace of her gardens, he could have gazed at her in tormented longing for all eternity. His surprise did not reach his face or movements and so innocent Persephone did not see it. She was blinded by the shock of such a terrible creature - swathed and garbed in shadow, secret and solitude, both frightening and somewhat handsome at the same time. Yet his darkness seemed to swallow and diminish her light and his intimidating noble presence almost brought a shame to her unruly world of laughter, songs, dance, flowers and childlike passions, so full of light and clutter. Like a child, she was both afraid and curious. He unnerved her, a being - netherless a God, she recognised - so unnatural to all she knew. And what was such a God doing, in the realm of her mother, staring at her so intensely with those haunting eyes of blue ice?  
  
She brushed away at her tears with her thin fingers, a movement that would appear gauche on any other, but was graceful when done by her. Hades did not fail to capture this moment with his eyes and memory, trying in vain to dismiss the onslaught of feelings that attacked and overwhelmed him as he held the young immortal within his gaze. How sweet she seemed! The moment seemed stretched to the point of brutality once more as they stared at one another, blue eyes meeting green.  
  
It was Hades that broke the silence "Is there quarrel between us?" he asked bluntly. Never being used to constant discourse, the God of the Dead fumbled unapologetically through his manners. "I am Hades, Son of Cronos, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead and Wealth and I have sensed your anger towards me. I would very much like to remedy that, though I am unaware of how I have caused you offence or injury."  
  
She did not know whether to respectful as her mother had instructed, to strike him or weep and beg for her friend back. Yet something about it, though disturbing to her, stirred pity within her kind and understanding spirit. She could not hate. She pushed down her recent grief and the child that she was insisted that she be friendly.  
  
She smiled, a gesture that set his heart alight. "I am Persephone, Daughter of Demeter and Goddess of Spring." She said, the warm smile reaching her musical voice.  
  
"Then I am honoured to meet you, sweet Persephone." He said, taking her hand in his and brushing it with his cold lips. The gesture shocked them both. He was astounded at his nerve and uncharacteristic theatrical flourish at such an action. But how he longed to do it and how soft and warm her skin was! Though a stab of regret visited him as she stared at him awkwardly, her childlike heart rebelling against something so adult and unfamiliar. Yet innocence and ignorance are brothers and both prevailed as Persephone smiled nervously and did not commit it to memory.  
  
"Please let me know how I have caused you anger."  
  
Caution, he warned himself. It would not do to be cruelly blunt with cold logic as he normally was, he had no wish to hurt so innocent a being with harsh words.  
  
Persephone felt a stab of guilt again, a stab of shame at drawing him here. For hating death so. Yet like a child, she would live with a sincere heart and live without lies.  
  
She spoke, strong and brave "I did not wish to draw you to my realm, for my quarrel was not with you, though I admit with regret that it is with all that you are. Today I have felt the icy touch of death and do despise it, I feel like a lost and lonely child, so full of loss and hate."  
  
"Yet she is no child." He murmured in response.  
  
"Yes, I am a maid and lady to my mother, not just a being to play and frolic with friends but to tend my divine duties. I know I must try to be noble as my mother taught but I will not disobey my honesty."  
  
"How may I remedy this?" he asked quietly, his voice low.  
  
She felt tears approaching "I do not know. . ." she said at last, her voice a ghost of a whisper.  
  
"Sweet Persephone, would you ask me to restore life to your fallen companion I would readily do so to keep tears from your eyes but sooner would I tell you something I have learned by tending to death and representing its very nature. Understand that though it may be cruel it is as much a force of nature as birth and life itself. As death by age is a part of nature you understand an appreciate for the release it brings, it is no more sinless than early death. Your friend must have been selected by the wise Fates for a unique reason. It is not a thing to be hated, though I do not believe one such as yourself could ever moved to such depths as hate. I know this is little comfort but I understand the misery that reigns with death, I understand your loss and. . .I know the feeling of alone. I know this knowledge will do nothing for sorrows but it may aid your understanding, which I believe means a great deal to you."  
  
She gave a wan smile "You read me well, my lord Hades."  
  
"I only hope I have offered the daughter of Demeter some comfort."  
  
She nodded slowly, her abundant locks spilling over her shoulders "You have. Thank you. . .very much." her eyes shone with warm sincerity, still pondering over his sad words. The feeling of alone. . .how such words haunted her. To think of a world of death without any sunlight disturbed her and she was suddenly filled with a powerful gush of feeling, of deep and genuine sympathy for the dark God before her. If only he understood the nature of the sunshine the loving smiles and embraces of nature, the glorious riches in scattered blossoms. But before she could offer her own words, though perhaps of childlike simplicity, he was gone, vanished in a dark swirl of shadow.  
  
Though not truly gone. In the shadows of the unseen he lurked still, unable to tear himself free of the sight of the Goddess of Spring. She could not sense him now, though he followed her back to her nymph companions, she could not sense him though she had awakened thousands of new senses within him. She seemed happier now, hiding mournful feelings, abandoning them for hope.  
  
He heard her words of apology and sorrow to her guardians and her offer to honour the lost nymph - Rhoda - by salvaging her body into something greater, as tradition and a loving heart dictated. Together, the 'sisters' laughed as Rhoda would have wished them to and the silvery peals of her laughter echoed in the depths of his lonely soul, her smile lighting up his world.  
  
She wandered out onto the sea of wildflowers, reflecting the brilliant gold of sunlight, walking upon the surface, her feet not even crushing a single stray blade of grass as he strode across to the very centre. She danced. A dance born not of Demeter's teachings or the sensuality of the nymph but of the Spring Goddess' own heart. Her movements were graceful, hypnotic, drawing a gentle force upwards, her dance beckoning, guiding. It was both heavy with grief and light with hope and catharsis. She swung, spun and spiralled with infinite grace and tenderness, still the movements drawing all to her, her sweet, peaceful dance. It could not be mimicked by none as it seemed to be the very spirit of Persephone herself. Stray petals from the loveliest flowers danced in the wind, spiralling upwards around her form then once the silent dance reached a peak they scattered abruptly, surrounding the dead form of Rhoda and as Persephone paused at that peak, Rhoda's corpse could not be seen through the bedazzling flurry of petals. As they fluttered to the ground, the goddess' dance over, Persephone still, the parting flowers revealed a beautiful tree, drawing upwards in strength and shading in affection.  
  
Still he hid, wonder overcoming him. He had to stare in the shadows that hid him. She enchanted him. She bewitched him with her beauty, innocence, sincerity, kindness and that magical dance. He longed to watch her always. He could not bear to have to return to his dark abode, having met this sweet young Goddess of ethereal gold and petal. Every fibre in his being longed for her.  
  
As Persephone watched her sister-nymphs dance and sing in celebration of Rhoda's life she felt a familiar presence. No, not the disturbing yet pitiful darkness of Hades but a golden brightness that seemed to make everything all right once more. her mother. Demeter strode through the tangle of trees, her smile as golden and nurturing as the harvest grain. Though more plump and lined than most other goddess', it only served to make Demeter's kind nature and loving devotion shine through soil-brown eyes. She seemed the very spirit, the very embodiment of motherhood. Her smile and open arms, sensing the sorrows that had plauged her daughter's heart were enough to bring a bittersweet joy to sweet Persephone.  
  
Smiling and then running into Demeter's ready, soothing embrace to sob like a child, mother and daughter remained until the sun slept that night. There, Demeter begged apology for keeping such a truth hidden and for her daughter discovering in such a terrible way. Both wept and told of their woes and their bond strengthened, unbreakable.  
  
Through all this Hades watched, wary of Demeter sensing him. After mother and daughter left the forests and Hades knew he must return to his sombre domain, reluctant to leave such a beautiful, enchanting being. He returned both confused and clear, his heart full of the memory of her face, her words, her smile, her bright laughter, her dance of rebirth and all about her. She had become everything so suddenly. His thoughts were full of Persephone, Maiden Goddess of Spring and the Underworld seemed hat much more dark and solitary without her unique brightness. 


	6. Chapter IV

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: I love updating! And is it me or are the chapters getting longer. . . ? This chapter is just my attempt to somewhat flesh out the relationship between Demeter and Persephone as well as Hades' growing feelings for the young Spring Goddess (the 'intent' isn't what you're thinking!). To answer Erin's questions (thanks for the loyal reviews as well as the lovely comments!) - though a fan of Willow/Oz I've never previously thought of attempting to write them, I will *definitely* give it serious thought. As for your musings on Hades' love being the result of an affliction by Aphrodite or Eros, I'm sorry I confused you but I intended it simply as that he had never before known love or lust, but feel free if you want to interpret it the other way. Also, no need to worry about the lack the present lack of Artemis - she's one of my favourite Goddesses so without a doubt she will play quite a part later on (who better to carry out a swift search of the mortal realm?). The death of the nymph is purely from my imagination, I hope that doesn't ruin anything for you. Equal thanks to Hannah and Kate - I love you guys! Thanks for all the support!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter IV  
  
The quiet lull of dusk and the familiar comfort of a warm night and the paradise of Morpheus barely around the corner of tiredness had a profound effect on Demeter as she gazed at the vulnerable sleeping form of her beloved child. The darkness of a night on the isle of Sicily was hardly darkness - there was a warm, heady feeling of protection with the blanket of night and dreams, like a rich cocoon. The windows to Persephone's chamber let in this warmth, the song of nightingales and the calming scent of timid flowers flowing in with the startling view of a sky littered with shimmering stars and the round, full moon of Artemis, guiding and watching with a gentle harmony. Even as a young child with a ripe imagination, no nightmares or phantom fears haunted the nights of Persephone. The nights of Sicily were nothing more than another side of the day and she always had the protective aura of her loving mother surrounding her like a comforter- blanket. Demeter, who out of love and habit still awoke at night and wandered as silent as corn in the lightest breeze to her daughter's chamber, just to see if she needed her.  
  
Gazing down at her gentle child, Demeter's full heart almost overflowed with a great sense of pride and love. Her precious little girl! Sometimes, it seemed like she was still an infant, sleeping quietly, her small, fragile body swallowed whole by her thin cotton blankets, her face still and amusingly determined in sleep, her features soft and her hair fanned out behind her head like a dark halo. She looked little more than a child's doll like that rather than a Goddess with the strength of ages and all the glory of Olympus at her shoulder. Affectionately, she touched her child's cheek for a moment and tenderly pulling up the embroidered blanket to her chin. Just in case it got colder later on.  
  
A small, glowing smile blossomed on the Grain Goddess' face, warm with love as she was filled with nostalgia and the times when she would sing her daughter to sleep. They would tend the land of mortals, play and converse till the rays of Helios descended from the sky and vanished into yesterday. Then she would put her daughter to bed, enchant her mind and lavish her imagination with a story and then sing a loving melody and deliver her child to the land of sleep before kissing her brow and whispering with infinite gentility "Sleep my sweet child and dream your golden dreams."  
  
Her brow creased with troubles tonight - her sweet, innocent, harmless little Persephone had now seen death. She sighed, her breath escaping her large lips in an exhausted exhale of worry. She was more a mother than a woman, large eyes and thick hair the shade of ripe earth, her plump body garbed in a robe of demure yellow, her face lined with the marks of age, here and there, like an earthly mother rather than many a Goddess that had birthed many children but still appeared little older than maids. She was beautiful not as her divine relatives but because such love shone through, such nurturing care and happiness that lit up a room with warmth to rival the softest, most homely hearths of Hestia. Such a gentle quality she saw reflected in little Persephone and it made her burst with such fierce and unshakeable pride for her sweet daughter. She was strong and though grief may have found a home in her warm heart, Demeter knew Persephone would never fall prey to it; she would dance and laugh her cares away, celebrating that her companion had lived a life full of love. If her daughter ever faltered, it mattered not. She always had her and always would. No matter, she would always protect her.  
  
Still, she felt guilt. Had she been wrong to keep so much of the world hidden from her daughter's innocent emerald gaze? The thought that she had wronged the most precious life in her world, the centre of her world, nay - her world itself, was unbearable. Persephone was her life, her only love, her reason for love and what gave her meaning. She knew there had been a time without her child but she could no longer comprehend it, could not bear the thought of even a day without her kind eyes, her gentle manner, her infectious innocence, the music of her laughter. . .  
  
Demeter sighed once more, promising herself to pay more attention to how she cared for one she loved more than her own life. She needed to be a good mother. She stroked Persephone's hair comfortingly as she had whenever anything had frightened her and kissed her pale brow. She loved her sweet child profoundly and unconditionally and vowed for the hundredth time that nothing must ever hurt her in any way.  
  
"Sleep my sweet child and dream your golden dreams." She whispered, her words as soft as the flickering candlelight, full of love like iron and silk.  
  
***  
  
Hades was tormented. For days he had drive to exorcise the images engraved deeply in his memory and heart, images of sweet Persephone and her brightness. Never before had he known love or lust but now felt it consume him in passionate flames. The dancing lights in those eyes as green as nature itself had cast some form of spell over him, enslaving his senses and snaring his soul. He felt chained to her warm spirit, a slave to the longing for the immortal maiden who was everything he was not. The memories of her standing solitary and full of sadness, how her spirit seemed to open to him, accepting him and warming to him without revulsion, her smile as glorious as the sunlight that seemed to bring her soft locks of wild hair to untamed life haunted him. How he needed to see her again, just to hear her voice, her laughter! How he longed for such bright heartily laughs to fill these halls.  
  
His waking hours were unbearable as he agonised over such haunting memories, such longing thoughts and an ever-lingering desire that would not move on to its next victim but continued to torture him mercilessly. He had no peace from his feelings for the young Goddess, the intensity of it and the lack of ability to control of battle it leaving him helpless and forever being ripped open and wrenched apart in tearing love. He had never slept often but had been driven to seek solace in sleep as often and as long as he could, to escape the warmth that filled his heart at the recollection of her sweet smile, a treasure given so freely and then the tortuous stab of longing for another such smile. But of course as his daily memories haunted him, his nightly dreams tormented him.  
  
He was in agony. Such an innocent, harmless being now seemed like a pitiless predator, hunting him down and gorging him furiously. Yet it was her deep gentleness that drove him to despair. He knew this was not physical lust alone and it pained and horrified him. There was no escape, no distraction for his weary mind, even when thrown into the consuming throes of his duties. When the longing became too much, he would garb himself in the secure sightless form of his invisibility helm and linger in shade from the sunshine, watching the young Goddess as she danced, sang and conversed with her gentle nymphs. The things she spoke of bewitched him with the sorcery of words, wit and kindness. Fires blazed within him as he watched her small, ripe form dance in naïve freedom, his cold eyes melting under the flame and warming with love and hunger. Agony stormed within them as he watched her tenderly tend nature and animals, such love shining through her eyes as she held them softly within her gentle gaze. How he wished she would look at him in such a way, with such love!  
  
He would return broken and ruined. In giving in to his need to see her, he always longed even more for her, loving her even more with the heady elixir of love and passion flowing from newly carved memories. It was enough to drive a mortal man to madness. Indeed, it was a madness that had possessed him, enchaining his very being, consuming all that he was - the lock and bars of his prison and the instruments of his torture the tender thoughts of Persephone. All that she was served to injure him further with such devastating longing, such emotional need and such primitive desires. He shrunk away from these alien feelings, repulsed by them; such feelings had never before had a place in his heart and he had no knowledge of how to master them and defeat them, nor the will to. He wanted both to destroy and consummate his passion, wanting to touch the sweet Goddess, to hold her tenderly, to speak the words that scorned and scorched his heart and hear her speak those tender words back, to drown in those seas of green that were her eyes, to bring only a fragment of her brightness; the aura he so gravitated towards and was undone by, down to his dark home. . .  
  
He was at a loss. Still, he ventured to the surface once more, a powerful phoenix of turbulent passion rising from the ashes of a heart scorched by such burning love, his icy eyes blazing with blue fire and intent.  
  
***  
  
Persephone was settled by a still pond reflecting all the humble colours of nature on its stoic but calm and gentle surface, her small, nimble hands weaving wildflowers caressed by the shade of violet for her mother, the warm sun on her back. Her mother had tended her duties as the Goddess of Grain and the ripe golden fields hardly ever needed further care or attention. This care and attention was bestowed on Persephone.  
  
But also, because of her mother's responsible management of her tasks, there was very little for the Spring Goddess to do and very few ways she could offer a helping hand. As much as she adored her mother and felt incomplete without her gentle spirit, she sometimes longed for a way to live up to her divine namesake and title. Still, she pushed the rare, discontent thoughts away, gently guiding them out of her mind and heart as she invited the land to give birth to new life as she allowed patches of wildflowers to grow, spreading the green boughs of the small, tree-lined area and nurturing the earthly gems, gilded in delicate colours.  
  
The lake shimmered, reflecting the corn-gold light of the sun, the teeming wildlife of the forest being drawn toward the friendly aura of the maiden Goddess. She sat down on the grass, listening with familiar fondness to the sound of her nymph companions frolicking as she gazed wistfully at the sparkling mint shade of the grass and the wild garlands dancing with the wind. Then her green eyes reached towards the endless sky promising endless dreams and eternity, adorned by large clouds, their waves sculpted as perfectly as any artwork, coloured a deep evening grey and heavy lavender, trimmed with mature but pale cream, their undersides coloured a sharp pink. She sighed, the bright beauty of her world never ceasing to awe her, the light and life never failing to ease any troubles. She was in her own element. Her very spirit sang a melody of life and love, offering her warmth and brightness on its hovering notes, unaware of whose ear it had captured.  
  
For one so affected and so immersed in the threads of this world's existence as a natural state, she instantly felt a disturbance, the whisper of darkness blinding her bright home, seeming to reach up to her and touch her lingeringly. She shuddered. She had not felt that shadowy presence since the death of dear Rhoda. She turned, facing the direction the caress of death seemed to reach from, the hands of shadow that stretched across the small patch of land almost tangible enough for her to strike away, rebuke their blasphemy and send back into the heart of decay from whence they came. Her mind had been split into different passions - one furiously agonising over her most secret lands of sunshine being disturbed, her rich casket of wonders rifled and defiled by this entombing presence. Behind this passion lay fear. And behind the dread fear lay curiosity, a solitary gem beneath a grave of dust and ash.  
  
She felt a cold jolt of painful nervousness at that reaction, the worry in her heart in the throes of madness, like and electrical storm. She knew she should have no reason to be afraid, but something within her cried out. Still, courage and her own judgement overthrew her foreign instinct.  
  
"My lord Hades?" she called out into the thick green of her forest, almost embarrassed.  
  
"Lady Persephone," came the oil-slick reply of her unwanted companion. Dark Hades emerged from the thickets, now swallowed in his dark spirit, musing on whether she might have thought of him during the time since they had first met. Now without his helm of invisibility, she could easily sense him. He had to see her, just to be sure. He realised that he had caused an almost fearful rise in her spirits and felt a brutal stab of shame.  
  
"You need not address me so formally, my lord!" she said, trying to laugh through her words "call me by the name my sweet mother bestowed on me as all my other companions do, mortal, nymph and immortal alike."  
  
"That I shall, Persephone." He replied, taking in the words and any possible meaning between them, her name languidly rolling of his tongue as though he were tasting and relishing it. Though she sensed an eagerness in him for her to be at ease, something was suggested in his manner that was alien to her entire being - something she had never before known and knew not how to handle. It frightened her gentle, childlike soul as his icy eyes pierced her with intense gaze.  
  
She struggled to remain polite, pushing down stray nerves and reprimanding herself for behaving so childishly. Such graceless conduct! And in front of a higher God, with a realm vast enough to rival that even of her father! Her mother would likely be ashamed, she worried. Her companion knew only the ghosts of discourse, that was the likely problem, she rationalised - he must not have been used to often speaking. Yet, it gave rise to the question; why did such a solitary creature wish to speak to her? That, coupled with something smouldering beneath the thin shields of the ice of his eyes gave birth to a suspicion. But of what, she could not say.  
  
Still, with childish simplicity, she innocence and ultimate naivety, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he had chosen to speak to HER. Her, over everyone else! Perhaps all other gods also felt this nervousness around him and had shunned him? To brave talking to someone after so long a time alone without company must have required great courage. He must be so very lonely, she thought with sadness, the feeling of loneliness foreign to her, something alien and terrible to one always with her mother's loving kindness always beside her.  
  
She smiled brightly "Then we are friends."  
  
He felt a strange feeling shudder through him, pulsating through his entire body both delightful and terrible at the word 'friend'. Her sweet demeanour and open hand of kindness went straight to the core of him. A silence fell over him where words longed to break out, words with great depth.  
  
"I would very much like to be your friend." She said tentatively, feeling a need to reach out. "Are you in need of friends, my lord Hades?"  
  
A pause.  
  
"I would very much enjoy your company, Lady Persephone."  
  
"Just Persephone." She reminded him pertly, her smile shining in her mouth, voice and eyes.  
  
"Persephone." He said, lingeringly.  
  
"Then we will be friends forever, if you would enjoy my company. You need never feel alone or sad."  
  
"Who says I am alone and sad?" he said, struck. Though knowing her words were true. Something about her sincere emerald gaze spread her own warmth to him and seemed to see right through him. She saw loneliness where others saw only a pitiless, cold, black pillar of a God, undeserving of any attempt at friendship. Could she see his feelings for her - his passion - shine through also?  
  
No, she saw only that, or did not recognise the feelings flowing through him. She simply beheld him with all the faith of a child.  
  
"Your eyes tell me. Your very spirit seems so filled with a hollow void, it seems so haunted, searching. . . Perhaps you should talk and find friendship. Why have you kept yourself alone for so long a time?"  
  
He felt disarmed by her unconscious charm "It is not that simple."  
  
"Everything is simple, my lord Hades. You only look upon it with a complex gaze, a mind filled with reasoning for great problems."  
  
"Now you read ME well, Persephone." He said, amused.  
  
"You rule death. It must be a terrible thing." She said sadly.  
  
"I am bound only by my duty as you and your mother are."  
  
"But we bring life!" she said, impassioned by the depth of her feeling "And life has such glory to it! Its smile is gentle and nurturing, bringing to all the brightness that make us all what we are. Without the kisses of sunlight, the delicate scent and tender touch of my sweet flowers, the life dancing from every corner, singing its sweet song to us, we would be nothing. It is a treasure, for it gives us love, hope and comfort when we have none - I know not from experience, as I always have my mother, but from observation. I have seen sunshine restore life to a wilting soul and melt cold hearts, I know the miracles this sweet young island can perform without effort. We should talk here more often, and I may show you all its beauty."  
  
"It is a most agreeable thing, sweet Persephone and I am grateful. . .but today I must ask for your mother, the Goddess of Grain. I seek her to discuss something of importance." He said, before another pause to take in all that was wonderfully intoxicating about her, falling in love with her all over again.  
  
"Besides," he said "this land - though soft and sweet - is so crude and random, the sunlight too harsh; I cannot appreciate it as you seem to."  
  
"Do not say such things! You need only bask in its redeeming light and you will understand. And I do not appreciate it - I love it. I love all that it is for it is me, a part that has nurtured me and become a vital part of my existence. It is my world, my spirit and my very heartbeat. There is much joy to be had in dancing in these wild flowerfields and simply taking in these gems of my mother's hand."  
  
"I would not do well to dance in flowerfields, no matter how lovely."  
  
She laughed heartily "No, but I'm sure you understand my meaning."  
  
"I understand that you love this world. . .yet. . .it pales next to you. You are both soft and sweet as the land you adore is, only you are so very more alive, your smile is filled with the redeeming light you spoke of and your laughter weaves a greater symphony than all the whispers of nature, believe me. Your brightness brings more love, hope and comfort than the rays - though crafted by the masterful hand of Helios - is left, little more than settled dust. You are mistaken, Persephone - you have not been nurtured by this world but you have nurtured IT. It is your light that gives it its beauty, it is your gentle kindness that has spread and infected it. It is enchanting."  
  
Yes! She was all that and much, much more! Her spirit, so lively and calming at once, filled with passion and serenity. Her imagination dazzled him and her romantic spirit scorched him with tender hands, blazing as violently as a dying sun. she was the singular spark that gave birth to light and all the life that fleeted from it and the flame that would ultimately consume it. Less formidable yet with the potential to be as sullen and broken in dark moments, just as incalculable yet far more sensitive. She would toss her dark flag of hair, bite her childish under- lip, scowl playfully, laugh, brood and be tender, intemperate, suspicious and credulous all in one day. She was an empress among goddesses who were but plain aristocrats. She would flare with feeling in a sunshaft through high branches making with careless and gauche but caring abandon, the deep green shadows a greenness darker and a darkness greener. He saw all that she was and loved her for it, needing it with the longing of a starving man. He saw himself in her eyes, as though she saw all he was also.  
  
As if to press his words, to show all that he did not say, he took a daring though thrilling risk. He reached out with his cold hand and tenderly touched her abundant flowing dark locks, something he longed to do. It was not unlike thrusting his hand into a pure flame. Its softness, like satin had the wildness of fire, the strands tangled and coiled around his daring hand, the smooth feel of it enough to heat his blood with more longing for this sweet Goddess.  
  
How still and lovely she was now, her shaken temperament and racing thoughts weaving a raw spell over him and enslaving him further. She stood numb, his heavy words crashing over her child's mind like a violent tempest, as still and silent as settled dust, her large eyes seeming to slowly take in and process his words, and what lay behind them, needing to break free. She seemed now more like she was woven from the desperate threads of his longings, as though he was still dreaming of her. This hallucinatory effect was accentuated through the heady stillness of the land surrounding her, as though a movement from her would be that of a statue coming to life than a movement found in nature. He alone had wrested her from nature's calming grasp, had pulled her into a dreadful new kind of life, separated from its colours and emotions in that stony moment. Yet the pattern did not alter.  
  
She stiffened at his touch and disembodied fear bean to rise once again in her at his advance. This was something new and dark, intruding into his childlike, innocent world. And awkward air of obvious discomfort shattered the moment and the bridges of friendship she had attempted to build. This was not right. She wanted her mother.  
  
Sensing her disturbance, he instantly recoiled, filled with shame. He had frightened her. Had she seen the desire in his eyes? Had he shown desire rather than love? He cursed such a spontaneous reaction. Now he repelled her.  
  
She drew back, free of the invisible and terrifying chains of his cold touch, his hands stroking her wild locks. She shuddered, chilled.  
  
"My mother resides within her temple if you wish to speak to her." she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.  
  
He had lost his chance. She wished him to leave her alone. He could do nothing but obey. Shrinking into shadow once more, he left her to visit Demeter, his heart struggling against a destructive inner-conflict. Alone, Persephone stood, saddened and stunned, unable to shake away the haunting darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
Demeter resided peacefully within her temple, a large building of smooth, shining marble, as beautiful as moonlight on a dark lake, adorned with wild plants, flowers and naturally, golden stalks of grain. Blossoming priestesses ushered in and out timidly. She sighed languidly; the land was at rest, in no further need of her ready hand. She reached out with her mind, feeling the unbreakable bond between her and Persephone like a golden thread. Yes, her Persephone was by one of her favourite ponds, weaving a necklace out of flowers of a fiery indigo, to take her mind off something. Demeter stiffened in concern, her gentle brow knotting. Her daughter, so normally at ease and in love with everything around her, was troubled. She would go see her immediately and comfort her.  
  
A decaying presence stopped her in her tracks. She cocked her head, sensing the aura of dusk fill the room. It was familiar, but it had been so long a time since she had felt such a chilling spirit.  
  
"Brother." She said, half in welcome, half in rejection. Such a gallant patriot to life she was and in truth, everything about her dark brother repulsed her, though without the fear that swirled within her daughter's gentle heart. Only an anger towards him for being there, for disrupting her orderly, changeless world of blessings of light and life. And a fierce desire to be rid of him, to chase these alien shadows back into the darkness they belonged. The Grain Goddess' normally loving nature was frozen to cold disgust at her brother that opposed her in almost every way in temperament, ice water running through her veins, rendering her not the smiling spirit of motherhood but a resentful sister. Whatever it was in him that horrified mortals only irritated her, but irritation can be powerful thing. Without an unkind word or gesture, she shunned him, an instinctive dislike gathering in her soul.  
  
He sensed this, this revulsion he caused within his sister, yet he persevered, his imperious darkness and his shadowy nobility shrouding him. He also saw the bond between mother and daughter shine strong and true, unfrayed, like a lifeline to both. He recognised all that Persephone was within Demeter and all that Demeter was within Persephone. They were one another, almost - both the vital thing necessary not only for the happiness but the very existence of the other, nurturing one another. Separated, they would be hollow. He digested this information and through it loved Persephone even more and gained a greater admiration for Demeter but without truly understanding or appreciating it's meaning, ignorant. For still, he continued.  
  
"Sister." He replied coldly, though trying to create a friendly air between them.  
  
Her deep earthly gaze narrowed in suspicion, but her maternal smile won over and she decided to greet him as she should and go about this business with a sisterly spirit, warm and tender.  
  
"What brings you here?" she said, smiling "Nothing unpleasant I hope." She ended with a laugh, so alike her daughter's graceful laugh yet so different, so lacking in comparison!  
  
He did not reply but remained silent and inert as though he were a grand statue craved from obsidian. This was no surprise to Demeter.  
  
She spoke on "This has nothing to do with the death rate in that oh-so small farming village, does it not? I thought the matter so petty it need not be formally addressed! Still, it is now resolved - the community no longer forsake me as a Goddess and I am once more devoutly worshipped as we all deserve to be and in return their crops now grow once more in abundance. I am only sorry that I had to neglect my duties there for so long, the place is a monstrous mess! And to think of how long they suffered and starved before simply going about their duty to me, to think of how they let themselves die - in truth, I almost yielded, they were in such a sorry state. . .and those poor helpless children too! It is one thing to allow oneself starve out of stubborn disrespect but to allow one's children to suffer. . .it is terrible. It may have been much simpler had I merely appealed to brother Zeus to smite a few of them, much simpler! Oh but I had to take it in my own hands and resolve it myself! Famine is an evil thing, I must say. But brother Hades, I was unaware that this may have caused a situation in your sombre kingdom. . .I would quickly remedy it if I could, tell me, how have things been affected? Severely? I hope not!"  
  
Hades sighed, purging the irritation. Once in the throes of discourse, Demeter would forever prattle on. "It does not concern that." He said, simply.  
  
Her head snapped up at his correction "Oh? Indeed? Does it not? Nothing to do with that. . .well. . .does it not, indeed? Well, that is good."  
  
"It does not." He said, wondering why when one word would suffice, his sister had to make use of a legion of them.  
  
"Then, what does it concern? How is it my business? Has something happened? What of it? Do tell me, dark brother! What reason has called to here? What do you wish to discuss with me?"  
  
He prepared himself for this moment when all would change "It concerns Persephone."  
  
He felt her heart coil and react deeply at the mention of her daughter's name. And as 'Persephone' rather than 'Lady Persephone'. Demeter's strong protective urges came into turbulent play - was this the reason she sensed that unfamiliar, sullen air to Persephone earlier? She stilled herself, she would let no bad fall upon her sweet child, no matter what.  
  
"What of? The incident with her dear nymph? I thought that was resolved, and why bring it up now, much later on?"  
  
"No, it does not concern that. It is long past."  
  
"Then how does this concern my sweet daughter?" she asked, concerned, her love for Persephone enveloping her tightly but subtly, like a shadow cloaking her, but not like the shadows of Hades, a warm, comfort, like a beloved blanket, carried from the cradle.  
  
"I wish to marry her."  
  
The shadow exploded in a rage of diabolical crimson.  
  
"WHAT?" she raged.  
  
"I wish to make your sweet Persephone my bride."  
  
"Your wife. My child. Your wife!" she screeched in protective fury.  
  
"My wife." He repeated.  
  
"And," she said, trying to force calm upon her, to gain some form of control over the urge to run to her young daughter, take her in her arms, embrace her tightly, shower her in a thousand relieved kisses and take flight, fleeing far away from this dread God. "And. . .what has brought this sudden urge upon you."  
  
"I am in love with her."  
  
Nothing could hold back the laughter that erupted from her. Scornful laughter, tingled with rage and a burning desire to strike him for such an indecent proposition and a lingering fear for her daughter. The laughter echoed cruelly through the room and cut the Lord of the Underworld like knives.  
  
"You love her?" she ranted, a fury akin to a berserker's rage gripping her "She is but a child. A sweet, innocent, pure child. My child! How dare you blacken her name with such a slanderous comment? How dare you profess love for my dear Persephone? She is a child!"  
  
"She is of age." He argued feebly.  
  
"She is not of age until I say she is of age! She is a child in mind, heart and spirit if not in body and for you to dare defile that purity with talk of marriage is great misconduct on your part!"  
  
"Will you not even consider my offer? I love her and I can make her happy!" he argued, his own angry fire building within him.  
  
"Happy? You know not the meaning of the word! When have you last known happiness? That is apart from when your perverse imaginings of my gentle child have gratified your filthy self! You are miserable and cold, you know not the joy of the dancing sun and playful clouds by day and the languid moon and hopeful stars by night! You are without feeling, without pity! Do not think I judge you wrongly, brother - how disgusting it is to consider you so! - for I have seen you amongst us and you do not speak, nor smile and I have seen you cold and unkind to others. You are a heartless, cruel, fiend! No wonder you rule over death! How could you make my child, so full of warmth and boundless love, happy? To presume to take her into your embrace and marital bed for the sake of your lust and call it love! And your kingdom! You would strip her away from the sunlight, flowers and all she loves into your realm of loneliness and pain!"  
  
"She will be Queen! Her brightness will give it warmth!"  
  
"She will be nothing there! Its darkness will swallow and destroy her brightness! You would put out the light so vital to her, crush her dreams in your freezing embrace! Nay, she will not be yours and shame upon your name and title for asking for her hand."  
  
She began to clam down, not wanting her stormy mood to shake down her bond with Persephone and alarm her. "Cast aside this infatuation and pursue a more attainable, more suitable bride and though my protective heart resists, I will forgive you, for my Persephone is easy to love through her nature. But I do demand that you leave immediately, never to lay eyes upon my child ever again."  
  
"Sister, I beg you -"  
  
"I will not hear it! Know this; I will not even allow you to speak to my daughter, let alone marry her!" her voice boomed with threat, her tone and words final and unshakeable. He was defeated.  
  
"Now leave." She said, her voice as ice and granite "And do not return."  
  
And so in a storm of enraged darkness he vanished into the familiar embrace of darkness, cursing it and hating it for being all that Persephone was not. Pain swept over him, crushing him down into nothing as he considered Demeter's harsh words and began to believe them. Would he truly give such a sweet creature that he adored with all his heart suffering? Could she never love him? Angrily, he pushed those thoughts aside, dismissing them - he could make her happy if he had the chance! This realm was vast, larger than that of Zeus; surely she would appreciate being offered such a kingdom? Who would not want to share his throne? He had everything to offer - a vast kingdom, riches and wealth beyond anyone's wildest dreams and his great love for her. How could she be unhappy if she dwelt here? He could not comprehend his rejection or the idea that Persephone would not fill his domain with light, laughter and the love he so dearly craved . Left in anguish without her, his rejection complete, he began to muse of another way she might become his Queen. . .  
  
* * *  
  
Persephone wandered whimsically into her mother's temple, her robe and hair seeming to dance despite the troubles weighing on her. What of Lord Hades and the moment they shared? And why did she sense such anger flowing furiously from her beloved mother?  
  
"Mother?" she called out into the temple as she walked in gracefully, her voice as sweet as gentle windchimes.  
  
She saw her mother standing solitary and deep in thought, looking weary, so unnatural a state for her mother to be in! Her soil-brown locks were dishevelled and her face ragged and tinged with an angry red, like a terrible scar, marring her normally loving features. Concern knotted tightly in Persephone's heart.  
  
He tentatively put a comforting hand on her mother's broad shoulder "Mother, are you well? What troubles you?" she asked quietly.  
  
Demeter turned and suddenly, without warning, embraced her daughter tightly, crushing her with the sheer force of her consuming love. Persephone gave a surprised, spirited laugh of a child and embraced her in return "Oh, I do love you, mother." She said in a rush. Then, pulling away, she saw a haunting sadness linger in her mother's eyes, drizzling their warm lands with miserable rain. She recognised that look; it was the look in her mother's eyes on the day of the death of Rhoda.  
  
Persephone gasped in concern "Oh my dear mother, please! Tell me what is wrong! Please do or I shall become afraid for you and cry!" she said desperately.  
  
Demeter's large lips twisted into a thin, amused smile, a parody of the sunny smiles she so frequently bestowed. "My dear Persephone," she murmured "You are such a sweet child. A true darling among children, my dear. Your heart is of gold."  
  
"Mother," Persephone pressed on "please tell me what has caused you such grief. I do not wish you sad for all in the world and whatever is amiss I shall right for you, I promise!"  
  
"You would make a wonderful mother." She replied, a bitterness at something present in her tone.  
  
"I have learnt from the best, mother."  
  
"I love you, my child. You do know that, do you not? More than anything. You are all there is."  
  
"And I love you. I love you desperately so please tell me what is wrong. I do not like seeing you sad."  
  
"Are you happy here, Persephone?" Demeter said suddenly.  
  
"Of course! My life is here! All I love is here! It has built me, as you have. It is made up of all I adore and all I could ever long for. I would not want for anything else. Oh, but why do ask such silly things?" she said, smiling brightly at the end.  
  
"I feel as though I have let you down."  
  
"Never!" she cried, indignant "Who says these things? Who tells you such lies?"  
  
"I have kept much of the world hidden from you and now I fear it is beginning to catch up with me and I am ashamed and a poor mother."  
  
"Not in a thousand years! Oh please, mother, please do not be so sad! I hate to see you so! I hate misery! You are the best mother a child could long for! I love you! I love you! I love you!" the words poured out desperately with all her young passion "Do not think you are a poor mother for it will make me sad for all you have given me is happiness and love. I do not need anyone else! This shall be our secret, but you are all, as much as I love my nymphs and friends they are not you. I know you have kept death away from me and I felt despair but now I am happy again. You are what makes me happy. I care not for all you have hidden, for I shall find them with courage and it shall be a grand adventure!"  
  
She smiled, hoping it would encourage her mother to do so.  
  
"Would you like to married one day? Have I kept you from that?"  
  
Persephone knew not whether to burst out into a fit of delighted and astonished giggles at the ridiculous suggestion, angrily deny or stiffen in fear at the prospect. Her voice shaking, she found words. One word.  
  
"No."  
  
Demeter looked up, her eyes almost tearful in hope.  
  
"Please don't ask me to marry! Is this what this is about? Do you wish me to marry? Mother. . .you know I would willingly marry anyone that held your approval and no other but please not yet! I have no heart to marry. I feel a maid in spirit as you have always been a mother in spirit. I know nothing of men and I do not wish to. I wish only to stay with you, if only as your high priestess. I wish only to be with you as your daughter and to be loved by you, nothing more! To be taken away from your love would be to be taken away from the smile of the sun, so please do not have me wed. I want to stay with you." She pleaded.  
  
At her sincere outburst, Demeter saw things so much clearer, all doubts of whether or not she had been too protective in the raising over her daughter, who was now the epitome of loving defiance with her proud chin held high, eyes flaring. An understanding swept over them both and they lunged into a tight embrace, holding each other as though they could never be wrenched apart. Demeter stroked Persephone's soft locks as though she was comforting a frightened child, kissing her forehead tenderly. Pearls of rich, warm laughter filled the temple as both Goddesses, mother and daughter parted and suddenly realised how foolish but fond they appeared, holding one another desperately on a cold marble floor.  
  
"Well," Demeter began "that was interesting." She said with a laugh.  
  
"Yes, but let us not talk of it now. Let us talk of all the happy things. Tell me of your day!" Persephone said eagerly.  
  
Demeter paused, wondering if she should tell her of Hades' request and her abject refusal. Turning it over again and again in her mind, musing over whether keeping such knowledge from her would count as keeping the world hidden. Finally, she turned away from the idea - it would more likely frighten or worry her sensitive child, after all, the very thought of it had deeply horrified her, and she was not the intended bride! Stubbornly refusing to see the possible good in letting her tender daughter know, she turned to face her, eyes awash with kindness.  
  
"Nay, tell me of yours, sweet daughter. It would bring me joy to know of what has happened to you today, tell me of your adventures and your laughter."  
  
Persephone felt herself reach similar crossroads - should she tell her mother of her strange encounter with the lord Hades? Though she longed to be open and honest she felt more harm than good might come from such talk, with her mother being so protective. She did not know how she would so soon regret not confessing the truth, ignorant to how much it needed to be told.  
  
She smiled, her fears evaporating in the light of her mother's love "Well. . .just a moment ago I began creating a flower-chain for you. . ."  
  
In the midst of their joyful discourse, the memory of her Hades began to fade and soon he was no more than a lingering enigma to Persephone and all too soon his proposal had been lost to the twisting chambers of Demeter's memory. All darkness vanished, but a ghost of a recollection. And so that day the halls would forever smile at the memory of the great laughter and tender love that visited Demeter and Persephone that day, forever echoing through temple and tree alike, bringing flowers into new bloom with gentility. And the flowers would much appreciate such blessings, if only they knew how they would so soon suffer. 


	7. Chapter V

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: The abduction is here! In this chapter we have an appearance from Hermes (like Kate said in one of her reviews, he's also fast becoming one of my favourite Gods of Greek Mythology), Artemis and Apollo! And later on look to see many of the other deities, if you still haven't seen your favourite yet (feel free to mention who you'd most like to see in your reviews if you like). I don't how I came up with the Eclipse idea (you'll see what I mean. . .) or if it's any good but I had to make an excuse for the abduction to go unseen and this seemed like a reasonable idea. Anyway, happy reading and remember how delighted I am at getting feedback!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter V  
  
Time flew by as it was measured carefully by the Fates as they gave each creature a destiny and watched it play out until they signalled change. Never hearing from Hades again, Demeter blissfully welcomed forgetfulness and his proposal and its significance was forgotten. After all, how could one dwell on dark matters when surrounded by the cheerful spirit of her daughter? The Goddess of the Grain went on as she always had, tending her duties with careful regard that fell short with how she tenderly cared for her daughter.  
  
She lived in the golden warmth of Persephone's soul, basking in its light whilst Hades dwelt in dusk and misery, tormented by an unbearable love for the young maiden. But, though he was never seen by mother or daughter again did not mean that he was not present. Still, garbed in the cold magical shroud of his helm of invisibility he watched the young Goddess through eyes of stone, ice and agony. He was in misery when he was not near her, but to be so close to her and yet so far away, without being seen or spoken to sharply dug its agonising way into his heart with brutal stabbings. It was as if her love was tangible and attainable to all but him. He had seen her laugh merrily with Hermes, run wildly and recklessly through the thick forests with Artemis and prepare a surprise for her mother with Hestia. All others seemed to have a great part of her heart yet he was not allowed a single, minute fragment. Today he had his chariot and mighty horses, knowing that he needed a swift return, as his former zealous regard of tending his duties had severely lessened to make time to gaze adoringly at sweet Persephone. The Goddess who he could never had and indeed, was shamed for even wishing such a thing. To look upon her beauty and gentle, light- hearted manner was to gaze upon perfection itself. It brightened him, though the return was always difficult, the darkness so much more intense. How he began to neglect things to the degree of needing an escorting chariot for the sake of Persephone. How he longed for her light, her love! But it could never be. And how it drove him to despair, to such madness!  
  
However, as she danced through her beloved meadow, singing to the trees, the sunlight and to each flower by name, Persephone, having strayed away from the company of her dear nymphs, was unaware of any of this. As she flitted through thickened forests, over gentle brook and through expansive fields, she felt the joy of freedom, though she also existed as bound to the land as the majestic trees with their roots spreading underground like long fingers, lovingly clutching the earth.  
  
Today it seemed different, as it had been for some considerable time, a heady, misty lull - invisible but tangible - dreamily falling over sleeping Sicily. It seemed to draw the night ever nearer, as though the immortal twins Artemis and Apollo were racing towards one another, day meeting night. It created a detached though comforting sense of serenity and Persephone, one so sensitive to the atmosphere surrounding and becoming her, was vulnerable in great degrees to its effects. And as though she had drunk a charmed elixir with the unquenchable need of one dying of first, was now drugged by nature's soothing and was now submerged beneath the thick layers of feeling and intuitive sensitivity. Something of great awe was approaching; her divine blood sang of it.  
  
She moved gracefully as she danced, flowing in her movements like gentle musical notes sparkling through the air. She seemed in her own world, a word of spark, seeping rivers of petals, melting hearts, chasms of plantlife, clouds of strong and free birds and the shimmer of sunshine. She sung of the dancing flowers, waltzing so freely, reaching out to caress their patron and companion, tangling in her hair and draping her young body. As she lost herself in the surreal imaginative land, she found her home of pearls of petals, spirits of the air and the muses themselves.  
  
"It is difficult to say where the flowers end and the Goddess begins." A light, humorous voice broke her trance. She came to a sudden, stumbling halt though it somehow managed to appear as a carefully planned movement in her dance. She stood, bemused, as the wind playfully poured her thick almond locks across her face, the stray strands playing a wicked game of hide-and-seek with her soft malachite eyes. She recognised the teasing and boyish tone without need of seeing the spindly form, the warm beige, tawny hair, the trademark winged sandals and the laughing metallic-green eyes, light and comically sly. At her recognition, he cocked his head to one side and a thin-lipped friendly grin began to writhe up his face, amused and then gave a theatrical bow.  
  
"I told you I would visit and I never lie!" He cried out joyfully.  
  
"Hermes!" she cried out with a childish overjoyed shriek and bounded towards him, her dance forgotten, and gracefulness forsaken for the delighted thrill of having a friend close by as she raced across her kingdom of petal and pollen. Reaching him, she embraced him tightly, flinging her arms around him as she had done as a child with careless disregard, laughing from her heart.  
  
"Who else would it be, Little Flower?" he said jocularly between laughs, calling her by an old nickname "Unless Eris allowed Ares to 'accidentally' get his warrior's hands on my sandals - I shudder to think what might happen then!"  
  
Persephone laughed and released him from her embrace and began to absently toy with a flower that had become caught in her dark hair "You used to let me play with those when I was a child, you used to let me go flying in them, do you remember? It was wonderful."  
  
"Yes, I remember letting soar five whole feet off the ground and then your mother - as dear and lovely a goddess as she is - becoming frighteningly livid and attempting to screech the immortality out of me. And then I remember returning the next day or so and being faced with you begging me to let me do it again. . .after adorning them with as many flowers as you could find." He said with a smile.  
  
She smiled warmly at the memory "Oh yes, but they seemed so much prettier with them! As for my sweet mother, I couldn't bear keeping secrets from her and told her every time only to ask you to let me have another turn the next time. I don't know why you kept returning to such a troublesome infant! Here, have a flower." She said simply, handing him the stray blossom that had become entwined in her hair, its petals shining a wild blue flecked with tender caresses of shy jade.  
  
"You need not worry dear friend, I will not beg for them today, I promise." She said with a smile.  
  
"That is a pity - I was planning to ask to let to fly swiftly and unabondoned to touch the stars themselves today. But if you do not feel like a flight today. . ."  
  
They both burst into fits of warm laughter at the old joke, carried from her earliest memories, one both stubbornly refused to let go of. Hidden in the arms of trees, seeming to hold him back in a prison of rough bark and cruel leaves, refusing to let him get any closer to the beautiful maiden Goddess, Hades felt a cold stab of envy. Envy of Hermes for having so much of her laughter, for being able to speak so freely with her, to have a place in her heart. To see nymphs, priestesses, Demeter and other Goddesses so easily have what had been denied him was one thing but to see another God able to bask in the light of her smile was another thing altogether. . .  
  
"Tell me dear Hermes," Persephone said settling down on the soft grass to craft a wreath out of the flowers she found there, the small cluster of violet and simplistic yellow, scarlet and deep plum and a misty blue and clouded amber. "Tell me how does my beloved father?"  
  
Hermes chuckled "Your father is well, Little Flower, though in truth I do not know where he would be without my assistance in the Io incident. In a great deal of hilarious and humiliating trouble I suspect!"  
  
"Io incident?" she questioned.  
  
"Yes, your father can be somewhat of a fool at times, as this incident proves. As you have no doubt been told by a laughing Aphrodite or enraged Artemis -"  
  
"And doubtless you also." She added.  
  
"I am defeated. Yes, as you have heard he has a habit of somewhat free in his love. Now, Io came into play a few short weeks ago when. . ."  
  
Guilty laughs arose from the wide meadow of Sicily at the story. Hades watched, enchanted, as her innocent green eyes widened in amused shock and her clear bells of laughter shone like the sun, marred in his eyes only by the sound of Hermes' somewhat nasal laughter. Still, the passing sound of the conversation was enough, though much of the quietly spoken words were lost on him. However, her random shocked comments were as clear as her musical voice.  
  
"Oh dear! How could he be so silly? How did he ever let himself avoid being caught by Hera?"  
  
"Oh poor, dear Hera!"  
  
"What do you mean I should be crying 'poor dear Io'? What happened to her?"  
  
"He did not! He could not!"  
  
"A cow?!"  
  
"Poor Io!"  
  
"But. . .however. . .however did.?"  
  
"No! She did not!"  
  
"Oh how wicked of her!"  
  
"Though it does serve Father right."  
  
"Is this where you enter the tale?"  
  
"What did you do, Hermes?"  
  
"You sang to him?"  
  
"I will tease you if I wish to! You have teased me in the past!"  
  
"And so he slept and you stole away poor Io?"  
  
"She was restored, wasn't she?"  
  
"The poor mortal! I would never wish to speak to speak to a man again after such a terrifying experience! How terrible for the poor girl! What a catastrophe for Father!"  
  
And soon Hermes' recounting of the tale ended in a burst of heartily laughter from the both of them and then more wondrous laughs as the God of Messages regaled more tales of Olympus to Persephone, listening intently, as an enchanted child to an elder sibling weaving a fantastical story. Persephone smiled brightly "That is why are my best friend, dear Hermes. You make me laugh so very much. Anyone else would have crafted it into a moral tale but you have given it humorous life, you should be commended. Though, my gentle mother would not approve at laughing at such an awkward situation for my Father."  
  
"Your mother must admit, Persephone, that he did bring it on himself." He replied. With that, familiar laughter grasped them once more.  
  
"How childish we are!" Persephone exclaimed, through laughs.  
  
"You say it like it is a bad thing, Little Flower." Hermes replied with boyish charm. "Next time, instead of accusing us of being childish - for I think we are by nature - accuse us of having our minds addled by nectar!"  
  
"You are right, for I suppose I am but a child myself, still. And I wish to remain so."  
  
"So you should, it is a great thing to be young - both wild and innocent!" as if to prove his point, he did a sleek cartwheel in the air, quick and agile as lightning.  
  
She smiled, nodding her head in agreement. "Yes. It is wonderful to be free of such. . .adult problems of Father, Hera and Io."  
  
He smiled warmly, a grin of barely suppressed bouts of laughter forming once more. He reminded himself to visit Persephone more often, it seemed to have been a long time since she had laughed so much.  
  
"I better not tell you such stories of the foolishly-dramatic goings-on up on Olympus. If you ever asked your mother if you could leave the meadows I am sure I would have to flee to the most obscure realm to escape her." he joked.  
  
"I am not quite that impressionable, you know I never wish to leave. I could never leave my mother's side - this is my home, my paradise - not for one day, one hour or one minute! It is all that I am. I do not understand what it is about Olympus that is so wonderful next to this wonder and treasure of life and natural beauty."  
  
"It would not remain so pristine and beautiful if it had a group of petty, squabbling immortals live here." He said with a knowing grin.  
  
"I cannot win."  
  
"NOW you are learning."  
  
"Do not say such things unless you wish to have those sandals you favour so much embroidered with wildflowers."  
  
Laughter. And then a comfortable silence, both enjoying the quiet, friendly, familiarity of a moment spent in reflection.  
  
Hermes resigned himself to a sigh of regret "I must leave you know, Little Flower."  
  
Her face fell in a child-like manner "You will return soon? I do love your visits and our talks, perhaps mother will join in next time also."  
  
"Wonderful," he said, beaming "I vow to bring my dearest companion a gift when I return. A surprise."  
  
"Thank you! But. . .you must not, it would be much trouble."  
  
"A gift in return for a gift."  
  
Her brow furrowed, wondering what gift she had given him. Guessing her thoughts, he waved the tender young flower she had given him so freely earlier. She smiled warmly and getting to her feet, fixed the newly- completed wreath upon her brow and gave a light kiss on the cheek of the God she regarded as a brother. In the shadows, Hades' heart pounded with envy. With crooked grin and a wink, Hermes was off in the air, waving heartily towards the young Goddess in the vast tumbling meadow as he swiftly flew to the heavens.  
  
Alone again, Persephone smiled to herself and with a huge feeling of freedom overcoming her, she ran in a bounding manner, simply for the sake of running, across the wide, flowered meadow as though she were chasing the wind. As she reached the centre she gazed up towards the sky, now furrowing in some foreign torment. The goddess gazed quizzically at the strange sight.  
  
Now alone with her, the watchful Hades felt the flames of passion lap his soul once more, soon consuming him. Why did her torment himself in such a manner? To forever torture his eyes with the image he so longed for but could never touch - how he fell prey to the raw need for her embrace, just to hold her in his arms! It was wrong of Demeter to demand he take a more suitable bride, however noble her intentions. How he would despise one whose temperament was too much alike his own; he was now forever repulsed by the darkness that became his very soul, not wanting to take strength from it and use it to freeze any shred of warm humanity and extinguish light. Instead, it was the light he yearned for, the light to bring him hope, a warmth to share with him. He felt too much alone. Also, he instinctively knew that in a more 'suitable' bride's embrace, he would feel as cold and detached as before. And even more lonely. Such icy, numbing, consuming loneliness. Nay, it was not a fine creature of darkness he desired but the angel of light, love and laughter that graced his sight in those meadows of blossoms. Truly, his love for Persephone had spoiled him for all others; all he longed for was one of gentility, sweetness, serenity and passion and with such unconscious power to captivate. Her desired Persephone.  
  
How lovely she seemed, so alone and innocent before him, beautiful of body, heart and manner. It was not beauty that a mortal man could comprehend but something far more enchanting; as though she were a tapestry delicately woven from all things found beautiful - beautiful forms and faces, all the tender, kind qualities of soul that made one inwardly beautiful and the small insignificant beauty like the return home after a frustrating day to find the first entered room bathed in calming sunlight. She was crafted from the beauty of nature; a particularly lovely tree, flower, a landscape that would steal away breath in wonder, the capricious loveliness of the weather and the devoted perfection of the skies in every mood, day and night. Also, she was made of the beauty crafted by the land of man, by the rapture of mortal lovers, by a child's imagination, the layman's dreams or the artist's inspiration and masterpieces. She was crafted from all that was considered beautiful - such was the divinity that made all Goddesses incomparable.  
  
He was similarly built, but of all the cold, dark, horrifying elements of life, death, nature, temperament, craft and eternity that inspired fear. He was the aloof one of ice to strike terror into mortals and drive away all his immortal relatives. Yet, it seemed for the loneliness that consumed him without pity, that his soul was housed within the wrong form. And the love for Persephone had awakened the defect and to be loved by sweet Persephone was all that could transform him into whatever it was he truly was; to gain her love for who he was, though how foolish and desperate a dream it seemed. He contented himself with watching her, pushing away nervously at the increasingly strong desires and needs that wracked his soul. As he watched her, a terrible thought swept through his mind, only to be rejected, but still persisted to hover around him, chastising him in poisonous stings, like a swarm of bees.  
  
Unaware of the terrible battle being fought so near to her, one that would forge her destiny, Persephone gazed on at the skies. Until a shimmering drop of rain fell upon her upward-turned elfin nose. She laughed warmly as more rain began to fall, wildly and full of freedom, beginning to coat her in its cold droplets, drenching the goddess. She laughed, enjoying the refreshing feeling, savouring it. On an impulse, she began to dance; though without the practised grace and fluidic movements as earlier she had, but twirling around in a bounding, gauche manner, laughing, her pretty head turned upwards, welcoming the rain. She twirled around like a child, her golden laughter seeming to make the sun come out, free of self- consciousness, only wanting to feel the moment, savouring the rain and the freedom. The sky was awash with rejuvenating tears and Persephone twirled on, head upwards and arms outspread. There was nothing else apart from her and the rain now, all else dissolved with the weather's wet blessings. Hades' heart leaped when he saw her, so young, so golden. . . All attempts at stilling his insatiable passions melted with the rain and he felt that thought return like an acidic poison, potently corroding his innards.  
  
As though the Fates themselves had decided upon her destiny for belong in his embrace, at that moment, as the stars and course of the flight of the playful sun and hopeful moon predicted, the chariots of Artemis and Apollo met. Artemis; long-legged and free from pretension and shallow longing for beauty, her skin a delicate yet defiant light shade of olive, as pale as the moon she cared for so tenderly, her hawk-gold eyes, glittering with the raw intellect, instinct and passion of a hunter, hidden by curling swathes of rugged tawny hair, as thick and gleaming as a lion's mane about her, streaked here and there with the healthy brown shade of her scared deer's coat. She was the huntress with her untamed wildness but also the gentle moon of solitary wisdom. Above all, she was a virgin goddess, never to be touched as the moon, watching and guiding with understanding vigil and forever living for the chase, never succumbing. Her twin, Apollo, was cut from the same cloth yet an entirely different garment - adorned in a strange hybrid of a prophet's robes and the armour required to drive such a wild chariot; his chariot of burning gold as Artemis drove one of blazing silver, both streaking across the sky in tenderness and fervour. His hair was as curly and unruly as hers and coloured the exact same lion-like shade with the odd few locks and roots of burnished brown. His skin was the pale olive of Atremis', yet it had been long ago deeply bronzed by the glory of the sun he so dutifully tended to. His eyes were of a wise blue, like oceans of knowledge, tinged with a stormy gleam of his twin's golden hawk- eyed gaze, with equal sharp wit and measured material of kindness and wildness subtly lurking beneath the clairvoyant surface. Both their features were angular, their appearance pleasing and beautiful in a manner of both femininity and masculinity, both bearing the brunt of a trace of the opposite sex within their forms and visages. Both their souls were forged of the same unpredictable element that mixed both reserved gentility and knowledge with the chase of passion and the wildness of freedom, both brother and sister so similar yet so different. However, today the sky was lined with wreckage of silver and gold as both divine chariots colliding into one another, the solar eclipse sparking out the sun and moon, shrouding the awed earth in ethereal darkness; an event somewhere between amusing an irritating to the twin deities and also between beautiful and terrifying to those who dwelt on the earth.  
  
Persephone stilled her dance and gazed, as still as a statue, the rain still persisting in its fall, only somewhat more gentle, perhaps as a sign of sympathy from the powers that be or the final bolt in the trap. She clung her hands together above her heart in a fleeting movement as she stared wide-eyed at the chaotic and fascinating sky, her heart ablaze with deep feeling, moved. She lost herself in what she saw, not allowing it to become a moment of childlike idealism or of poignant reflection leading to a strangely sad moment, but simply taking in the glory of the sky, so much like night, an obsidian moon framed by a pure white halo, shining down on the earth, committing it all to memory. Her last memory of the world she so adored.  
  
Hades had been taken aback by the commotion above, and even impressed by the beauty it created out of the discord. Still, it all paled next to Persephone, still glowing with love in a light that was neither sunlight nor moonlight. Her form was trembling and shivering though not troubled by it, the tender rain caressing her body, causing her hair to darken almost to ebony black, clinging to her face, neck, shoulders and strong back in thick, tousled strands. Her pale face, dripping with rain, was illuminated by something and shining with a look or pure peace, her eyes large and loving, reflecting all the greens found inside of nature. Her small hands were clasped in an almost longing manner above her lovely breasts. And her body! Her pristine gown was soaked through by rain, clinging to her petite form, accentuating her lovely, ripe young body, scandalously revealing beautiful flesh through the drenched material, betraying her legs, thighs and breasts. And throughput this seductive vision, she still wore the face and heart of chastity, of childlike innocence. He had never seen her more beautiful, or irresistible.  
  
Those desperate fires within him were now unquenchable as he gazed at the bride he coveted so much, trying to look away, to break the spell of her appearance. He did not wish to harm or frighten her! Yet he it was impossible to deny or overcome this terrible feeling that so seared his heart and loins. Finally, something snapped, as did his control and his selfish desires and needs won. He could bear it no longer.  
  
Tearing out of the thick, protective forests, the sound of his powerful horses haunting and ghastly, the entire earth seemed to rumble, the flowers themselves seemed to cry out in horror to their naïve mistress before becoming crushed cruelly beneath the heavy wheels. The need for the Spring Goddess was too powerful to ignore and that desire raged in the heart of the Lord of the Underworld as his onyx carriage and monstrous horses bore down on Persephone. At the terrible sound to her left, the goddess sharply turned, feeling an alien strike of fear shudder through her. horror and confusion froze her as she took in the sight of Hades, shrouded in furious, frightening darkness in his majestic carriage, drawn by huge raven-black horses with fiery eyes and huge, heavy hoofs, mercilessly stampeding towards her and destroying her flowers.  
  
Her eyes asked all the sudden, worried questions that she lacked the time to voice and the answer she received with a kick from her gut, crying out 'Run!' encouraged her to flee. Bolting away, desperately trying to escape, she bounded over her meadow in the rain, now falling hard and sharply, looking up to the blackened sky for aid from Apollo or Artemis, the ever- watchful guardians of her days and nights but found their concentration drawn elsewhere, not seeing the harm in turning away from viewing the world to resolve the incident with their carriages. In sheer terror, she continued running with all the speed she had within her, with all the energy and wilfulness in her frightened heart and the sprinting agility Artemis had taught her she persevered though her limbs tired her, her eyes searching for an escape as she fled her dread pursuer. But no, she was being chased in the centre of her largest meadow and there was no hope of quickly darting between trees. Her own world that she loved became as much her captor as the dark God bearing her down. Frantically, she screamed out for her mother and then to her beloved nymphs to no avail. She had strayed too far! Again, she called to her mother, begging for help, for rescue, terrified tears burning her eyes, panic drowning her soul, its cold hand strangling her.  
  
As she approached the end of the meadow she bounded for the nearest line of trees, hoping to entangle herself within thick forests and lose her chaser, hope and relief gladly swelling within her scared soul. But as she neared, she felt the cold hands of Hades grasp her, his iron arms encircle her and haul her, kicking, screaming, flailing and crying out, her voice hoarse from screams, to her beloved mother. She felt her feet lift the ground and her fragile body dragged into the chariot, pulling her close to the terrible God, trapping her in his embrace, against his chest, his free arm fastened around her waist, keeping her clung by his side, his muscles beneath those ebony robes and shadows feeling like bars of metal against her tender skin. But still she bravely struggled, unknowing of what joys simply holding her in his arms brought her captor.  
  
However, all the fight was wrung out of her and replaced by raw horror and overwhelming fear as the ground split open with a deafening roar, revealing a gaping dark hollow, spitting out splinters of earth, rough rocks lining the entrance to the Underworld like jagged, sharp teeth, anticipating consuming her. And with one final scream for her mother, Persephone was ripped from her world's embrace, her green eyes wide with fear and wet with tears of defeat, and plunged into darkness, leaving only a wreath and a few dead flowers in their wake when Artemis and Apollo parted and the sun's rays caressed the earth once more. But there would be no more joy for lonely Sicily, for Persephone was gone, stolen away and doomed to be Queen.  
  
To rule over darkness and death alongside Hades. 


	8. Liber Secundus : Stolen Prize

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Part Two is here! And so is another little poem! Oh yeah, again the Latin means 'The Second Book', so I think you can see something of a pattern emerging. . .  
  
Liber Secundus : Stolen Prize  
  
Away, away, to mourn the sun  
  
Escorted fiercely by fierce love  
  
Snatched from sunlight and motherly care  
  
And reborn into darkness  
  
Without escape.  
  
As shadows ensnare her  
  
And darkness consumes her;  
  
Convulsing shimmering obsidian  
  
A burnt emerald  
  
Sparkles and dissolves.  
  
She is prey to a kingdom of corpses  
  
Victim of their solitary master  
  
As she learns how cold love can be  
  
She is lost.  
  
She is scarred, torn brutally away  
  
Aching from the severed bond  
  
Ripped in half  
  
And flung beneath a heavy crown; she weeps  
  
And begins to know bitterness  
  
And the bite of despair.  
  
She will plead, cast into a vast prison  
  
Captive of one whose love could reduce her to ash  
  
Captive of a cold realm  
  
And subjects of icy terror  
  
Persephone trembles.  
  
He declares adoration,  
  
And both will plead  
  
Yet hearts will not open  
  
To reveal their warm but bloody forms  
  
Ignorant to the suffering above  
  
She suffers below.  
  
If wishes were horses. . .  
  
If tears could buy freedom. . .  
  
If begging could gain sympathy. . .  
  
She cries for her mother  
  
As her spirit erodes in death's domain  
  
Shunning her captor  
  
Refusing to become his stolen prize,  
  
His prisoner bride,  
  
Still the child  
  
Child of lost dreams.  
  
She weeps as do the walls  
  
And the faltering life above  
  
But only silent granite and a captor hear  
  
Her pleads falling into obscurity  
  
As she longs for oblivion  
  
In those first terrible days.  
  
A maiden is disillusioned and destroyed  
  
As emptiness consumes her  
  
Cold, pitiless, fiendish.  
  
She cries for her mother,  
  
Ripped from her roots, her stalk split  
  
She sits sullenly, silent with sorrow  
  
In her gilded cage  
  
Wings clipped.  
  
She is alone. 


	9. Chapter VI

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Part two! First chapter (well, sort of)! It's a little short but it's basically a starting point of sorts. Anyway, thank you for the honest reviews and remember how I adore fresh ones!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter VI  
  
Ice water flourished through her chilled veins, pounding forward, driven by dread. Demeter's heart of natural warmth and sunshine turned to a cold, heavy stone as she felt her daughter's terror tugging at the bond between them, felt her clinging to it like a lifeline. She felt the horrifying anticipation, the despair, and the cold, dark fear that once lurked now bursting into flame. She trembled for her daughter, protective instinct coursing furiously through her all in a split second.  
  
However in that split second she felt the bond snap. Her body jerked with the shock, feeling as any mortal would knowing the cold sharp stab of a dagger beneath their veins. She felt the loss, like a wound leaving her hollow, her lifeblood flowing freely from her weeping, raw flesh, seeping into fine robes; staining them and scarring her. leaving her to die. The terrible feeling overcame her, preventing her from rushing to her daughter's aid.  
  
Persephone. . .her daughter. . .where was she? She could no longer feel her. She could not feel her! Panic flooded in, replacing the warmth that was escaping in such a dreadful moment. She had always known her daughter's whereabouts, could always feel her aura, her dancing spirit. But now, nothing! Nothing! The invisible bond that had so closely tied them together, one knowing the other completely, was gone. It felt as though she had died. Half of her was gone, torn away. She was hollow without her, hollow, recovering from the numbing shock of the separation, blinded by fear. She sank to her knees, as if the feeling of loss were an agonising weight upon her back, a goddess falling to her knees, divine strength failing her. From her throat, a throat of motherly laughter and kind, wise words erupted a mournful wail, like the howl of a dying animal.  
  
Where was Persephone? Fear reigned supreme. Stilling herself, though feeling she could barely move independent of the bond to her daughter, she let herself dissolve into the atmosphere and reappear, her form overcome with emptiness and housing only terror, where she last felt her daughter. She needed no intuition to tell her something was wrong - she already knew, as that knowledge screamed down her soul. Something was very wrong. Something terrible had happened to Persephone.  
  
The meadow was peaceful, as it always was, sunlight gently gracing the dancing grass, ignorant and selfishly living onwards as if nothing had happened, flowers still gently blooming in abundance. She felt anger; anger that the world should so patronisingly go on as it had before, though something was terribly wrong! How dare it! Yet, the world was changed. There seemed an emptiness to it, the colours not quite as bright, vivid and radiant, the sounds not quite as sweet and echoing, the spirit faded. It no longer had Persephone.  
  
Demeter felt dread so terrible she could scarcely think. What had happened? Where was her daughter? What had severed the link between them? What terrible things where happening to her that ver moment? The awful questions of doubt for a child's safety, such questions that should never visit a mother, flooded her senses, leaving her racked with agony, sorrow and still that black cloud of fear, howling through her.  
  
She still could not believe it. The bond was severed. It could not be severed! That terrible ache where the warmth of her daughter's spiritual presence should be! Where was she? She felt like crying, mourning terribly but she refused. She would not give in to it. Her daughter was in danger and worry - though it tortured her relentlessly - gave her wings to fly and the will to do anything to see her innocent child safe. How she longed to hold her! How she would cling to her tightly and swear never to let go!  
  
Her brown eyes flickered across a wreath, carelessly fallen upon the ground. With shaking hands, cold as ice, she took it, held it. With a convulsive sob, she held it to her heart. She had to find her daughter. A mother's determination caught her now, her great love ready to drive her and break the spell of paralysing fear and overwhelming helplessness.  
  
She jerked her head, strands of earth-brown hair flying, as she beheld terrified nymphs running as fast as their graceful legs could carry them. She sensed similar fear burning in their hearts, saw in their eyes, the same grief.  
  
One sobbed, clasping her hands to her mouth hopelessly, shaking her head in disbelief "We have failed! We have failed our dearest sister!"  
  
Cries rose from the nymphs, their faces betraying emotions thought alien to such carefree, capricious and sensual beings, devoted only to nature and their own pleasures. Demeter could not feel sympathy for them. She felt anger, self-pity, worry, loss, indecision, dreadful fear and a deep stony resolve to do something.  
  
She finally found her - albeit quavering - voice, a hardness entering it and her being "Failed?"  
  
"We heard our lady scream, most terribly, as though fleeing from unimaginable peril. She called out to us and to you. . .we raced as fast as we could but. . .but. . .she had strayed too far! Too far!" again, the tears of defeat "We had let her wander away from our dances and songs as we often did when she occasionally preferred her own company. My dear lady, we thought nothing of it! But now we are too late, though we bolted at our greatest speed. . ." she could not continue, now her fair body violently racked with cries and tears, leaving her to silently lament, as her sisters did.  
  
Demeter could find no words, no response. Still, the numbing shock, imprisoning her senses, her reactions! How could she react when those daunting questions were still at the forefront of her mind, all she could think of! What had happened?  
  
"Do any of you know of what passed her?" she asked, the fear tangible in her tone.  
  
"Nay, mistress. She had strayed too far, we were unable to know of anything until her piercing screams reached our ears -"  
  
"Be silent!" she raged, propelled more by dread and haunting concern from her consuming love than by anger or malice "I do not wish to hear it! Screams, you say! Screams! For my sweet Persephone to have screamed! Her voice was not meant to be filled with tones of sorrow or fear, only love and happiness! Strayed too far? How dare you claim such things - it was your duty to watch her always, to protect her! How could you let this happen you. . .fools! Fools! How?" she trailed off, feeling tears about to entrap her. She knew she was in error but she did not apologise.  
  
"Leave nymphs, leave and search. We must all search! Search everywhere and do not stop searching until you have found your sister and lady! She must be found!"  
  
The nymphs instantly nodded and scattered, leaving Demeter alone. She felt a great pounding in her ears, felt herself drown in the terrible feeling. She would not cry, though tears were now her closest companions, she would only cry when given a chance to stop. But she could not stop now. Sicily would be thoroughly and her divine relatives questioned. She began to entertain the taunting hope that all would be well once she had inquired upon Olympus; perhaps she had strayed with Hermes, or Athena had taken her to some obscure temple for further teachings. . .  
  
It gave her little comfort and did not satisfy the questions, the screams or the severing of their bond. She put her hands to her mouth to hold back a throaty cry; how lost she felt without it! How like a shell of herself! How could she move, how could she cope? It had been a part of her since the divine conception from the loins of her great brother; giving her so wonderful a gift that it made frowns from Hera an ease to endure. Since Zeus had spilled forth his seed within her, she had felt that golden moment as Persephone was given brilliant life, and their link of love was formed, she could already feel the gentle soul of her child enveloping her, even then. How she instantly loved her! She felt a thickening in her throat as she recalled the feel of her at birth; her tiny skull pushing through with delighted determination, her frail form, and her piercing cry. It was going to be all right, she wished to reassure herself, but more than herself she wanted to reassure her lost child of that. It would be fine; her mother as searching for her and they would be together soon and all would be well.  
  
She departed for Olympus, fading into the shroud of the air, feeling her spirit without need of form spiral upwards. She would find Apollo; he ad bore witness to all he goings-on of the earth and would tell her of what had happened to Persephone. Unaware of the dark realm that her sweet daughter now inhabited, she travelled to her brothers and sisters, full of fear. Still clinging the torn wreath to her broken heart. 


	10. Chapter VII

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Sorry that the last chapter was so short compared with the rest ::blushes:: but I guess it was more of a 'linking' chapter than anything else. Anyway, back to Hades and Persephone now! Enjoy!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter VII  
  
Persephone's sharp cry shattered the silence of the lonely, dull realms between the Upper World and the Underworld, echoing down. Torn away from her mother, from the sunlight; the stark blackness surrounding her hurting her tender eyes. She trembled in fear, wanting her mother.  
  
Words faltered and sentences broke as Hades' dark chariot and brutal horses tore through the bowels of the earth, thundering downward, the ghostly wails of the monstrous beasts silencing all as blackened, their Lord and Master travelled downwards to his solitary kingdom, his arms thickly about his soon-to-be bride, the one who would give it such joy and life. Ignorant of the terrible state the frightened child was in, ripped from golden threads of warmth into a void of sorrow, where she could feel nothing but alone. She trembled, her lower lip thrusting forward, eyes of deep green waves filling with crystalline loss.  
  
Cold. It was so very cold. And dark. The darkness seemed to swipe at her, leering and intimidating, diminishing her own brightness completely, crushing out the dying flame of a single, solitary candle. The sunlight had long been shut out behind them and Persephone, daughter of Demeter, was plunged into darkness, but a darkness unlike that found in nature. There was no night sky, no pure harvest moon, no dancing starlight, no comforting sounds nor musky smell of dusk. All that surrounded her was dark, dull rough rocks and pungent earth, rotting, the stench of decay growing filling her nostrils, so used to the sweet scents of flowers, healthy fruits or the warm natural smell that surrounded her mother in a warm golden cloud of homely spices. Gone were the nurturing terracotta shades, replaced by dank, sodden earth. Everything was dead. And still they travelled downwards, down, down the void of corpse-like earth and rotten soils - so fast! - towards the Underworld. Her heart pounded violently and she felt a faint press at the very thought; the thought of such a cold world, without light or life. . .  
  
The chariot sped so swiftly that any flowers holding her hair in place had long since forsaken her, bursting free of her wet, tangled locks, still soaked by rainwater, once so warm and gentle, now cold and harsh. Her long, thick hair now fanned out behind her, the drenched strands now cruelly snipping at her shoulders, their slaps stinging her prone, shivering body, quivering. Her captor did not escape her tousled locks' spite and also occasionally felt her long, beautiful hair snake around his back wildly, armed with venom. He welcomed it, savouring the exquisite feeling of her dark hair once more, his mind running back to that day he dared touch those thick burgundy depths. And now she was in his arms, the one she so longed for. The feeling of her quivering form pressed against his was almost euphoric, hindered only by the gnawing feeling that the feeling was not mutual, the lingering guilt.  
  
Naturally, she had fought back. With all the crazed energy of children she had screamed, flailed her small, thin arms, kicking and lurching her petite form, trying to squirm and scratch her way free with total disregard and desperate abandon. However, Hades' grip upon her was total and despite her sprightly struggles, laced with a terrified need to flee home, a need for her mother to embrace her, to tell her it would be well. All she could do was reach out behind them, back to any rescuers, swiftly pursuing her abductor, born of her imagination. Reaching out to the sunlight.  
  
Realising she could not fight or struggle her way free was like the sight of her nymph friend's weary eyes closing one last time, taking away all that she was. It was total and the world crashed, burnt and dissolved into bitter nothingness around her. Tears claimed her as she began to squall like a child, weeping and begging to be returned, fear; a terrible, dark, ominous fear, behind every word, every sufferable sob.  
  
"Please, send me home. I want to go home. I want my mother." She repeated the words, begging him, a goddess begging. She was so afraid, afraid of her captor, afraid of what awaited her, afraid of the terrible realm of the thing she feared most - death. To her, Hades was death, death embodied, now that he had ripped her from all she knew and though she was almost paralysed with that gaping hollow of terror, still she begged.  
  
"What have I done?" she sobbed, tears coming in a wild storm "Please, please don't do this. I wish to return - please escort me back to my dear mother and nothing will come of this, I swear! Please! I want my mother. Please. . ." her tone rose, her voice almost piercingly high and raw, her throat choked with thick, heavy sobs. She begged loudly, pleasingly, then quietly, whisperingly meek, still weeping. She cried like a child, loud sobs still coming thick and fast, though her body could not handle more teas, her rosy face coloured a savage red, streaked with tears, her green eyes rimmed red. Her body gave slight jerks as though in physical pain as she silently wept, robbed of the energy to wail as she had, but unable to stop, a low moaning from the throat, her body racked with silent sorrows.  
  
Hades did not respond, though each plead cut him a little deeper, the sabre of her sorrow slicing into his heart. At one point, he faltered. She was crying so much, so much like a lost, frightened child. He frightened her! When he had previously forged an odd friendship with the maiden goddess, now he above all things, horrified her as he stole her away to his sombre land. Guilt stabbed him with sharp, cold brutality, the blade sliding within him with slick ease, all the way to the gilded hilt, wounding him. He almost considered returning her, begging for her forgiveness. Yet he would not, he resolved. He could not undo what he had done - had he the power to do such a thing he would have returned her, but it was beyond his own abilities, however great. If he returned her, she would be no better off and he would suffer, though he had done the right thing. And so, the icy nonchalant walls he had built around his heart protected him from his love for sweet Persephone.  
  
His mind argued in his defence - perhaps he was doing the right thing! Surely, it was not right for him to be forever alone? Any scars that had swept across her soul could not be erased, therefore why return her? She was young and afraid, though she lacked true reason for those slick salt tears, he never intended to harm her. Nay, he intended to honour her as no other goddess had ever been honoured! He desired to make her his Queen, his love, partner in ruling over a vast, wealthy land - all that was his would be hers. This was his one dream, to see her seated gracefully in the throne next to his - so long empty it made him ache! - a beautiful, masterfully crafted crown resting upon her gentle brow, her eyes looking upon him with love. . .was it wrong to dream of such things? Was it a crime to love? Could it surely be deemed immoral to pursue her in the fashion he did, only out of love? Yes, she was afraid and confused, but it would pass, he reassured himself. She may be sullen at first but once she saw all he had to offer, such misery would swiftly vanish! How could she refuse him? He pulled her tighter to him, not out of a sordid wish to have her within his embrace but simply to hold her; the fine gentle innocent that she was, afraid that if he was not careful she might break or vanish. She was his dream.  
  
Soon, they reached the very pits, the core of the earth and all was consumed in a wave of thick, inky black shrouding shadow, leading onwards, no light to guide the way. The shadows seemed to jump forward, seeming to lunge at Persephone's aura of light, wanting to tear it away and ravenously consume it. To her shame, she gave out a distressed sound and pulled herself tightly into her captor's embrace, wanting to escape from the howling darkness. However, realising what she had done, she felt only anger at herself and her instincts, pulling sharply away, willing to take her chances with the destructive shadows than find Hades' arms protective. He was death, it seemed, snatching her away without word, warning or sympathy.  
  
Now as they left purest onyx black, devoid of warmth of feeling and entered the detailed torments of the Underworld, Persephone lost all tears, the urge to cry escaping her. She was frozen still as she gazed around her, fear stiffening her naturally joyous, alive, dancing form. No tears fell. Horror stripped her of movement, tears and words as she gazed in fearful awe at all she was not.  
  
A feeling of nausea overcame her as she gazed of the land of the dead. Death. It was repellent to her, the opposite of all she loved, of all that made her who she was. She had been raised knowing laughter and love, thick forests of deepest tangles of green and rich browns, wide blue skies the colour of cornflowers, the sun golden and pure shimmering white. She had lived in a world of comfort, joy, friends and the warm love of her mother, ever protecting her. But here there was no warmth, only a phantom of what had been, grieving and alone, and only its misery tangible. All around her was death and horror - the river Styx, huge Cerberus - each terrible head giving a guttural growl, the lost souls, pale and dead, without colour or life wandering as hideous parodies of living beings, now only examples of fear and suffering, Charon, the ferryman of shadow and dusty bone, the cold stone walls and columns, rising further than her gaze could follow, the piercing icy temperature howling through her senses, the stench of a tomb filling her.  
  
That feeling of loss and fear she had felt at the death of Rhoda, seeming to sweep her away into the nearby river of sorrow overcame her. And there was no light! Not a single shaft of light to dash against the leering darkness! Nothing grew, no trees, no flowers and no random fresh blades of grass. It was without warmth, without a cloud-filled sky, without life, only a terrible dark loneliness. It chilled her bones and made her sick to the stomach, her entire being rebelling against a land that opposed all she could ever love, all that had made her who she was. It was akin to stepping into the land of one's nightmares. Death was everywhere - she sensed it creep up her skin, pour through her, into her very core, polluting and poisoning it, tearing her apart. It made her flesh crawl. More than that, it drove her into a state of terror and panic. She hated this, she could not exist in such a place, it frightened her, and she wanted her mother. . .  
  
All her noble courage that had reigned within her gentle heart quailed in the face of this terrible realm, so cold and cruel, darkness striking at her; her fiery passions dimmed down to a trembling ember, her heart itself crushed by the sight of this place. She began to breathe too hard and too fast, drawing in sharp, shallow breaths, as if breathing was suddenly a terrible, agonising labour, panic flooding her entire being. The air became stifling and pitiless and she seemed to wither now in the land of the Dead, where all was alien to her. More than alien - it diminished what she was, a creature of light and happiness. Where she not so choked by fear, she would have felt silent tears pressing once more, desperate to escape the prison of her eyes. she recalled her grief at Rhoda's death; her soul being corroded and hollowed by the bleeding, mourning wound of the bitter, cold emptiness that filled her. . .now she was in that wound, living in the lair of that feeling. The pit of all negative feeling. Her breath was ragged and quick, as she tried to calm herself.  
  
But she would not be calmed, she felt she could scarcely move, everything frightening her with numbing precision, twisting her world upside down. She felt as though she had died and was now a lost soul, flung mercilessly into eternal torment. All around her, replacing the neutral, caring shades she loved was empty black, staring through her and dull grey, like the skin of a drowned corpse, scraping forward in a raw lull of mournful misery. The only flowers and fruits of this domain where the cold spirits, hovering and travelling in their own private world of charred grief. There was no life, only a solitary cold creeping through her skin, the stark outside worming into her. she wanted to cry again - it was so horrible! - but could not, held back, bound and enchained by fear.  
  
At that moment she reached mentally for her mother, having been too shocked to do so before. Nothing. Distress crept inside her, hollowing her out brutally. She reached out again, hoping to feel the comfort of her mother's presence and spirit, though she could make no contact. Again, nothing - she felt their bond of iron and gold severed and frayed. It could not be. If the fear was overwhelming for Demeter then it was a thousand times worse for Persephone, now lost and stolen in the Underworld. She felt as a lost little girl reaching out to where her mother should be, but only chilling darkness meeting her. she felt her entire being cry out and howl, weeping for her without openly making a sound but still nothing. She wanted her mother. She reached out again and again, unable to comprehend that by being shrouded in so much darkness, her contacting bond with her mother had been destroyed. Still she attempted, needing her mother and the world shattered upon realising for the first time in her life that her mother was not with her; the knowledge breaking her spirit and never wholly freeing it of its corrosive stain.  
  
She was now alone. For the first time in her life, she was completely alone.  
  
Hades sensed her disturbance as he directed the chariot over the River Styx towards his grand castle. He vowed to be patient with her, sympathising with the despair that consumed her kind heart. Again, he felt shame at causing it within such a perfect creature. Still, soon she would recover and all would be well - she would be happy, he reasoned, unaware of how he was leading himself down the gold-paved path of self-delusion. Her anger had left him unaffected, her crying had hurt him and filled him with doubts, her silent sobs more than her outright weeping and wailing and now her fear and despair at his kingdom he understood. He understood how alone and afraid she must now feel. It disturbed him, again that sharp pang of remorse and regret taunting him! Why should he be so tormented? Why should he know only anguish - longing anguish without her and guilty anguish now that he had her? No, he could make her happy, for he would give her everything. He could offer vast wealth and riches in place of pitiful flowers, they would have no need for light for her smile and laughter could bring sunshine enough to the lonely chambers. And she would be wanting for nothing when it came to love, he would devote himself completely to her!  
  
He felt her go limp in his arms and wondered if she had fainted. No, she was aware of herself but her appearance shocked him. She seemed so pale, so fragile, as if something vital to her had been stolen and now misery leaked into her through the gashing wound. It must be the shock of the stark contrast to her own familiar land, he mused, it must be because she has never before aquatinted her gentle gaze with such terrible sights.  
  
He hoped she would be impressed at the sight of his home, knowing her previous disgust at death he reasoned she would not initially admire her kingdom, still hoping at least his castle could awe her. The darkness hit their eyes before the bright bombast of the huge rocks of gold surrounding the fortress-like castle, the building itself seeming more like an illusion of shadow than made of actual raven-black rock, surrounded by murky, wailing waters of the Styx and the mountainous gold, gleaming. He hoped if not the magnificence and scale of her home would impress her then perhaps she would take comfort from the brightness of the gold.  
  
However, it only served as a poignant reminder of the world she had been stolen from, the shining gold seeming pitiful next to the laughing light of the glorious sun. The castle itself horrified her, so tall and filled with towers and turrets, going on and on like a black labyrinth. It seemed like shadow given form, built from a thousand ebony ghosts than of stone. It reminded her only of what she had been snatched away from, and her heart ached for all she had lost. Her mother. . . She felt tears form once more, but attempted to fill herself with bitter, hollow courage - the only courage she now knew - and not letting all that he had done steal her dignity and reduce her to tears once more. She felt so alone. She wanted to die.  
  
Outside the grand imperious castle of darkness and shrouds of death the chariot halted and Persephone took swift advantage of Hades' momentary distraction to leap out of his cold arms, out of that terrifying chariot and run away, unknowing of where to, though willing to wade through all the rivers of the Underworld if it meant she could escape. She ran, determination coursing through her fiercely, drowning all else, even her fear. She wanted to go home. However, she did not get far before she felt sinews of shadow embrace her, grief's grip tighten around her and pull her back towards the Lord of the Underworld. She did not cry out in rage or defeat, nor in fear.  
  
Hades stiffened in worry as he saw the look in her blazing green eyes; it was a bizarre hybrid of hate, fear, revulsion, pain, betrayal and sorrow. And he was the cause of it. Again, the blade of guilt claimed him as a victim once more. He pushed it down, feeling as though he could walk upon it, reprimanding himself and reminding himself of how wonderful it would eventually.  
  
Persephone wanted to glare at him with a furious flare of anger, ignorant as an innocent is to how darkly and devastatingly handsome he was in his own element. She did not notice such things. She wanted to hate him and let him know how hated he was. She wanted to spit in his face and demand to know why he had stolen her away and betrayed their so-called friendship. She wanted to scream at him and tell him she detested him no, in a childish temper tantrum. But she could not. It drove her to despair; she could not hate him. It was not within her nature to hate. She intended to question him still, keeping her voice aloof and level, to be as cold of the dark domain he had hurled her so mercilessly into, though she could not succeed in that task either. She could not suppress her emotions.  
  
"Am I to be your prisoner? Why have you stolen me from my loving home and gentle mother? What have I done? Why am I here? Will you not return me? Of why - what have I done? I believed us to be friends!" The questions flowed forth in a flourish of feeling, rendering the Goddess of Spring unable to stop herself. She now wept again. Though another may have attempted to hold back tears in the face of one whom had wronged and hurt them, she could not; it was one of the flaws of her sensitive nature.  
  
"It is no fault of yours, fair Persephone." Hades replied quietly, something deep within him trying to hide itself.  
  
"Then why have I been abducted so cruelly? I thought us to be friends!"  
  
"And I hope we shall be once more, I hope you can forgive me for such conduct, for my world would end if I were forever to lose your companionship."  
  
"I was afraid. . ." was all she could reply, sobs suddenly choking her. She felt a flush of shame at appearing so helpless, but with her bond to her mother - her lifeline - broken, it felt as if all her strength had evaporated.  
  
Hades abruptly commanded that the shadows that imprisoned her to release her from their dark bonds and at his wish, they fled away, though Persephone had felt their whispered phantom forms drink deeply of her light aura, now so lost, confused, afraid and alone. As he was usually within her glowing presence - and despite her recent shock she still glowed and spilled forth gentle rays of light from her spirit - his pragmatic, cold, if somewhat sardonic wall collapsed and he was bound by spontaneity. When he was with her, it truly felt as though he pursuing something real, something alive and it had a profound effect on his senses, normally so finely set in stone. He reached out and wiped away the hot tears from her burning cheeks, drinking in the feel of her soft skin, how it was to touch another creature.  
  
She did not know whether the emotion that flared through her was comfort or fear at his icy touch, remembering how violently those hands had held her to him, how those fine hands like that of a musician's, could have been so rough and claw-like. She shivered. But the tears stopped, though, unable to this time give the Lord of the Underworld the benefit of the doubt, she was not at ease and suspicion lingered.  
  
She gathered her courage "Why did you steal me from the world I love?" There it was - the question she feared, dared not ask. Yet still she had asked. Of course, she could hardly go on without pressing the question; it needed to be voiced. She did not care for ignorance and going on as though nought had happened whilst she dwelt in such a horrifying kingdom.  
  
He had also feared the question, feared answering her, seeing as she looked at him with those hopeful emerald eyes, so sweet, gentle and innocent, regarding him without judgement. He felt his age, her youth. Perhaps it was not too late to pretend and create some other reason? Yet his passions won once more, he could deny them no more and they devoured him in that moment.  
  
"I love you, gentle Persephone."  
  
Broken shock from the Goddess of Spring.  
  
"I have long loved you since the moment I first laid eyes upon you that first day, in the thick green of the forests where your nymph entered my dark land. I have brought you here for you are my beloved and. . .I wish to make you my Queen; to rule by my side for all eternity."  
  
Harsh silence.  
  
"I. . .regret so. . .abruptly escorting you to my solemn domain, but I wish you to rule as my Bride and Queen. You will be happy and want for nothing; I will see to that. With every moment I endeavour to deserve you ."  
  
His answer seemed surreal as it crashed upon her ears, so used to words of love only from her worshippers, companions and her dearest mother. Her purity wanted to understand, to be kind but her childish simplicity, her humanity wanted the opposite. She was unsure how she should react. One surety was that she did not return the feeling. Terror gripped her once more. This was an adult feeling, not for her! How could he love her? She was her mother's daughter! Suddenly, all became clear to her, why she had been so fiercely kidnapped. Something within her green gaze snapped and was left incredulous, a solitary tear slipping down her cheek, pearl-like, the last breath of her childhood. In pouring out his heart to her, he had broken hers and she grew more in that moment than she had in all the years of her life.  
  
Her voice again fled to that child-like high pitch "And if I refuse?"  
  
"You would not refuse, for there could be great happiness to be found. You will have a vast kingdom and will be greatly loved -"  
  
She could not hold back her vast spill of feeling and let it run loose "I was loved! My mother loved me! And I loved her and her world; this world is vast, yes, but I fear it! It is everything I am not, it diminishes my light, and it diminishes me! It. . .sickens me and terrifies me! I cannot stand; a world without flowers or life or not even a single stray shaft of sunlight - it is not a realm, it is a tomb!"  
  
Her flush of childlike temper raged then clamed in a burst of sobs "Forgive me, I did not intend to be so crass."  
  
His heart leapt and pounded with the passions of dementia, first from her rejection, then from her sweet-natured apology. To apologise to him after such. . .! it spoke in volumes of her and he felt her hold on his heart tighten into even more solid a permanence. He could not let her go, could not have her leave him, could not be without her.  
  
Persephone struggled on "I detest for my words to sound cruel to your ears, but what you have done is wrong, it is a crime against me, you know not how your dark realm distresses me. I am sorry to say this, but I do not love you. And I do not believe I ever could love you. I am my mother's daughter - it is my destiny to remain hers, by her side as her most loving and devoted maiden lady and child, for I am a maid in body, heart and spirit. That is my destiny. Not to be anyone's beloved."  
  
"But you are MY beloved! And for that you must be my bride!" he was desperate now.  
  
"Please, I beg you to return me, I miss my mother - I want my mother and I want to go home, please!" desperation gripping her, also.  
  
"You know I cannot." He said gravely.  
  
"You intend to keep me here? As your prisoner?"  
  
"As my Queen."  
  
"No!" her clear voice and singular word cut through the shadowy domain, echoing throughout.  
  
"You will be happy in time. You will learn to love me."  
  
"I do not wish to learn! And I will not!" she cried "Please, I plead to you, return my to my dear mother, I cannot be without her! Please! I will not become your Queen for it is not my wish, please understand. How can you love me if you would do such a thing?"  
  
"It is because I love you I do this. But I know I could bring you happiness. . ."  
  
"This is wrong!"  
  
". . .and because of this I will keep you by my side as my Queen and only love. You have captured my heart. . ."  
  
"But you have not captured mine! Though you would imprison the rest of me!"  
  
". . .and do not think I do not understand or feel sympathy for your grief at the loss of the Upper World's brightness. I know it was your all, but if only you would for a moment consider the great light you would bring this dreary realm! You are all I long for."  
  
"You feel no sympathy for me, or if you do it pales next to the sympathy you have for yourself. Please - let me go. I want to go home. I want my mother. I am afraid here, please show mercy and allow me to return. I do not wish to be your bride. I do not love you. Please!" she tried to hold back distressed tears, but they flowed freely, the frightened child once more claiming her.  
  
"I want to go home," she wept pitifully "I want my mother. . .please, do not keep me here. . .please. . ."  
  
He approached her, but she would not allow him near her. she wept silently, thinking of means of escape, the fear taking control, the loss haunting her still. She had no will to move, no will to live. She wanted her mother. She longed for sunlight! She did not wish to be Queen of such a repellent world, so dead and dark. Unable to escape, she cried like a child once more, wishing for her mother to hold her and calm her.  
  
Taking advantage of her distress, ignoring the conflict within him, he carried the struggling girl. With ease, he took the weight of her shoulders and thighs and lifted her off her feet, carrying her into the black mouth of his obsidian castle and home as one would a prize. He was weighed down with the pressure of her sorrow but still persisted, determined to go ahead with the ceremony, as was their destiny. 


	11. Chapter VIII

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this update hasn't arrived quite as promptly as the others but here it is at last! Sorry, but I've been horribly busy with this, that and the other; I hope no-one's annoyed at the delay. Again, all my love and thanks go out to my supportive reviewers - I could never have come this far without you (but there's still a long way to go before we'll get to see the words 'The End')! I know so far it's been very angsty but worry not; the romance will kick in eventually! Enjoy the chapter!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter VIII  
  
Demeter struggled to retain the outward appearance of a calm and placid deity, despite the choppy seas of her heart storming madly in a tempest of blind panic, knowing that something dreadful had befallen her only child, her dear Persephone. Her young daughter was missing, lost and alone, without any link to support her! again and again, the worry that gnawed sharply at her insides tried to best her, making the Goddess of Grain wish to sink to the ground and weep. Instead, she pushed forward, drowning the pungent dread with a foolish hope that someone would know of Persephone's fate, that someone would help, that it was all a silly tumble of fuss and ado about nothing in the end. . .  
  
Arriving the grandeur of Olympus; a city of delicate and steadfast wonders, that no earthly delights could compare to, built not of mortal stone or marble but all the strength of will, all the admirable qualities of others founding the finely crafted pillars of pure white, veined with the odd stroke of pale pink or sky blue, encrusted with all the wealth of dreams. Truly the home of the Gods. Demeter lingered, her spirit violently coquetting with insecurity, the shadowy fears of doubt and the icy touch of indecision - dare she risk angering her divine family by charging in when all could be fine? Nay, she decided, flinging away the fantastical hope, knowing that something terrible was wrong and that no danger of her family's wrath could hold her back, her love tearing through all social restraints. Her daughter was in danger.  
  
Bursting through the refined double doors of brilliant alabaster and gleaming gold she charged into the main chamber, where most of her fellow deities gathered, her motherly face ravaged and contorted with anguish and fear. A stunned, chilled silence filled the room as the immortals of Olympus froze, staring at the panic-ridden goddess, some looking with indifference, others with concern, most simply puzzled and others gazing with a hint of morbid amusement, longing to devour and gossip about the shocking news. Demeter attempted to compose herself, to make herself presentable, gathering her breath and smoothing out her earthy robe of rich terracotta. She frowned in disappointment, her brother Zeus was not present. And of course, the tiny, foetus-like of hope that had dwelt within the motherly pit of her spirit, a hope that Persephone might be in their company was completely crushed. And still, the others looked on at her in expectance. Now she felt dwarfed, and felt the beginnings of rumour spread like a disease throughout the huge chamber.  
  
She paused, then found her voice, stiff and shaken but still as proud as she had always been, as proud as she had to be. "Divine peers and family," she said, twisting the silence to fit the reign of her solitary voice "Has anyone present perchance seen my sweet daughter, young Persephone?"  
  
Hera strode forward, her glimmering robe of gold, adorned by the sparkle of fine diamonds reflecting the refined necklace of the shimmer of diamond and the delightful whisper of silver, teasing and sliding along the floor, trailing behind her. Her fine, proud features of a beautiful face and a slim figure were set alight by righteous violet eyes and silken waves of thin and straight hair, glittering like the golden threads that created her gown. Those sharp amethyst eyes gazed upon Demeter with a bemused temper as Hera strode with pride, her stature high, her gold-shod might of the heavens clear. She had always disliked her sister, not with a passion, but merely with a contemptuous indifference, dismissive and cold; as she always held little regard for her husband's conquests. Her mind flew back to her earlier rage at discovering that he had dallied in the bed of earthly Demeter, who possessed little beauty and less alluring charm. She had been angered, jealous and puzzled at how her own bed of pleasures had been forsaken for one so plain as her harvester sister and the birth of so pretty a child born of that union, a child that captured the hearts of all her fickle family and that the Grain Goddess - doubtless! - was proud of. She recalled her distaste at Demeter's burst of pride at the mere mention of her daughter, how proud Zeus also seemed to be though he did little to nothing in her raising and how Demeter would constantly chatter inanely about her child at every single gathering. She perceived the bond between them as an annoyance that her sister would constantly twitter about rather than the profound love that it was, but still held the high ground of being in the right in her own clear estimation.  
  
"Is she not with you, sister, as she always is? Do you not keep a constant eye fixed upon your fair daughter?" she spoke, her low voice soft and clear, with a bemused edge to its sound. True, she admitted to herself - miraculously homely Demeter with all the grace of a land animal had borne a beautiful child. She would have seen this as further insult but in her heart of hearts was somewhat attached to her niece's endearing sweetness and unconscious charm.  
  
"Nay Hera, she has vanished from my side and mind, our bond snapped and I know not where she is." replied Demeter coolly, irritated by having to state the obvious at such a crucial time, her own indifference to the blatant distaste her sister held for her upping the ante to a level of annoyance - her daughter was in danger! Now was no time for petty, one- sided rivalries!  
  
"My Persephone is lost." She repeated, hoping the simple statement would bring forth some action from the still deities.  
  
Hera stiffened, though escaping notice, at the remark. The young girl was a sweet child, but she would not let herself become concerned with the welfare of a tearaway bastard of her husband's. Did none share her views on the sacred vows of marriage? Still, she allowed herself to let some concern slip free, Persephone was her mother's daughter and was disturbingly content with her meadow-filled life - something such as this was very much unlike her. Her fair brow knotted.  
  
"Are you certain?" she asked. "Are you certain it is not a misunderstanding of some sort?"  
  
"I am certain!" Demeter cried, panic once again taking hold and becoming frantic, her face becoming reddened and the burn of tears returning. "I cannot feel her spirit anywhere! Our link is completely severed! It is as though she has vanished into nothingness, as though she never was! I have cried for her and spread my influence over our fields and lands to perhaps feel her presence but I cannot find her, no matter how I search! Please - know you nothing of her fate? None of you? Please, I she must be returned, she must be found! I worry so much!"  
  
"Gentle sister, be calm," Hera said, her crystalline voice low and soothing "Not a single eye in this chamber has beheld your daughter of late. I am afraid we know less than you do. Yet she will be found; Zeus will return shortly and he will know how to set things right."  
  
"But I worry NOW." Demeter pressed, her voice strained. She was madly anxious.  
  
"She will be found." Hera reassured.  
  
Artemis stood, abandoning her discourse with Hephaestus on the state of her mangled chariot of silver starlight, her curled locks of tarnished and ruined gold swaying slightly framing her face like the wings of an eagle, her golden and amber stained eyes gleaming, hawk-like, all serenity gone from her gaze, her mouth a determined line - she was worried for Persephone. She spoke up, her quiet voice reaching determined volumes "Fear not, loving Demeter. My brother guides the sun on its sacred journey with every passing day as I guide the moon across the night sky by night. He bears witness to all in the day and will surely know what has befallen your child, he will have seen it all. You must speak to him with the setting of the stained sun and he will tell of Persephone's fate - you need not worry, my friend. All will be well."  
  
Demeter nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere, with Persephone still. "Know you of who has seen my child last?" she asked.  
  
This time it was Athena who spoke up, her deep grey eyes sad with heavy thoughts, her rich brown locks lacking their usual mystical wave, her tall frame seemingly weakened, her entire entity disturbed by the news as her mind raced ahead of all others', trying to pinpoint what could have possible happened to the Goddess of Spring. "I recall Hermes speaking of visiting your lost child this very morn, dear Demeter."  
  
"Aye, that he did! I remember!" roared Ares with enthusiasm beside a frowning Aphrodite, the veins in his neck strained, his muddy brown eyes blazing. "I have not one clue to where he is now but - if you were to ask me - I would say he will be here presently," he said with a low chuckle "it's likely he's on the run-around for our mighty Zeus!"  
  
Demeter paused, digesting all she had heard. Hermes. . . "I. . .I thank you all, my dearest family." Demeter said, her voice a shade above a whisper of the dead. She turned to leave.  
  
"Will you not remain? Until Zeus returns? Or Apollo?" said Athena calmly.  
  
"Nay. My daughter is lost and alone, without even my aura to draw comfort from. She is my child. I must find her and I refuse to stop until she is safe within my arms once more." she whispered and strode out of the vast chamber, leaving a stunned pantheon in her despairing wake.  
  
As she left, she heard Hera's parting words ring through her ears and quickening through her shaking soul. She was unsure whether the tone and intention was intended as solemn or sardonic, yet the words remained, fixed tightly within her spirit.  
  
"Good luck."  
  
Alone once more, she quickened her pace, seeming to float on the unsteady wings of frantic fear, anxiousness drowning her frail heart, through rich turrets and grand corridors towards the west wing. It was there that she would most likely meet Apollo. It was there that she would discover her child's fate. It was there that she would be reassured that all was well. It was there that her fearful soul would find relief and peace. Her heart burnt with the bittersweet scorch of hope, crying out desperately 'Let her be alright! Please let all be well!'.  
  
It was then that an oddly amusing, somewhat high-pitched voice caught her ear. Hermes, God of Messages! She turned quickly and entered the adjunct room, her spirit swelling. Yes! There he was, speaking sternly to a figure and failing to maintain an authoritative level. Joy gripped her; he was Persephone's closest friend. If anyone knew if she had wandered off, then it would be he.  
  
"Hermes!" she caterwauled.  
  
"Demeter?" he asked with a surprised, wide little grin "What brings you here?" he gave a friendly laugh "Whatever it is your sweet daughter says, I assure you it is not true! What has she accused me of ruining this time?"  
  
At the mention of her daughter's name, Demeter felt tears pressing once more, distress holding her captive. It was painfully evident that he was as blind as she to Persephone's whereabouts.  
  
"It was only a jest. . ." Hermes frowned slightly at her reaction, she did not usually take his light remarks this way. Though constantly cheerful he was no fool; he knew instantly that something was wrong. Something terrible. And to do with Persephone. His smile disappeared completely, leaving a grave look in its place.  
  
"Good Demeter, tell me what is amiss? Is it Little Flower?"  
  
"Please, know you her whereabouts?"  
  
"Not I, is she not within her meadows as I left her? Oh! Pardon the foolish question. If she were in her meadow you would not be asking me. . ."  
  
"Hermes, I do not know what has befallen her, only that it grave! I fear for her! She has vanished completely!" Demeter cried.  
  
The Messenger God was incredulous "Not Persephone!" he said astonished, fear for his childlike friend creeping in.  
  
"Yes! Our bond is completely torn! I know nothing, only the memory of her screams then. . .darkness. I am so very afraid, know you nothing? How was she when you left her? Did she leave you no clue, no idea?"  
  
A terrible pause filtered through the air between them for a moment before Hermes shook his head, an absent look in his metallic eyes "Not one, she was as she always is - gentle and laughing."  
  
"You must know!" Demeter screeched "Please, you must know something! You saw her last! You must know!" Silence. "Forgive me, I am shaken." She said, though not truly feeling the remorse in a mind where all her thoughts centred on Persephone.  
  
"Forgotten." He said simply. "I will tell Zeus immediately. I will be first to see him, as he would wish to know how my present encounter on his behalf has been taken. Persephone will be safe and sound shortly, I promise. And I never lie." He ended with a brave - though false - crooked smile.  
  
Demeter's attention was turned to his companion at his words, not having noticed the figure before, having been so deeply swept in the current of her thoughts of her lost little girl. She found herself facing a strange figure clothed in voluminous thin layers of wine-red silk that clung to her tall, thin figure, giving off the fiery impression of dark lust, almost akin to the constant allure of Aphrodite. She was both beautiful and ugly, her features mismatched and chaotic - her face was thin and proud, her features sharp. Her cheekbones were high, making her look almost gaunt, her skin as pale as alabaster, her lips wide and thin, her nose even thinner, her eyebrows wild and thick and her forehead high and somewhat protruding. On any other woman, these features may have been a fault, but upon her, the ugly qualities were twisted into a dark, smouldering beauty. Her mighty locks of hair crashed past her shoulders in flaming-red waves, inflaming the room, her deep set eyes nothing put pure dark pits with a garnet glimmer somewhere in the raven depths burning even fiercer. She was wearing a snide grin. Eris. The Goddess of Discord gave Demeter a sardonic little wave, now that she had finally been noticed. She deeply disliked being ignored.  
  
"Salutations." She said smugly.  
  
Hermes never had a chance to explain about having to speak to Eris on behalf of Zeus, relaying a message - naturally - on her recent fervour in warmongering, or at least turning old allies in friends into opposing warmongers, reminding her that there was a limit and not wanting to see another Trojan War on the horizon. Demeter did not want to hear. She had no interest. She only wanted to spill the Goddess' blood. Letting out a war- cry, she lunged for an amused Eris, her eyes screaming for murder. Eris simply stepped back and gave a dark laugh as she watched Hermes attempt to restrain the Goddess of the Harvest.  
  
"Well, thank you for saving me from the battle axe." She said, sarcasm dripping smoothly from her lips like poisonous honey, its odour pungent but alluring "Why do I deserve such treatment, Demeter?" she asked.  
  
"You!" Demeter spat "You're here!"  
  
"I am a Goddess. We do tend to traditionally abide on Mount Olympus every now and then."  
  
"Do not provoke her, Eris." Hermes said, trying to make his voice stern, though half-knowing he may as well tell fire not to burn - it was as much in the nature of fire to flame and flare as it was in Eris' nature to provoke others.  
  
"I merely greeted her, Hermes, you know that. What is the world coming to when one goddess cannot greet another without being attacked?" she said, still sardonic.  
  
"You troublemaking wench!" Demeter cried, her voice rough with unshed tears "It is your fault! Who else? What have you done to her? You have used you influence against my child! Somehow you have brought chaos to her! it is your fault she is missing! I demand you return her!"  
  
The Goddess of Discord laughed mockingly, enjoying the thrill of further agitating the normally jolly immortal "I have no idea of what you speak." She said innocently, her eyes large like that of a guilty child caught with their hand in a jar of treats.  
  
"You know of what I speak! I speak of Persephone!"  
  
"Who?" she asked jocularly, seeing how far she could go before sending the goddess into a complete rage. And in doing so she sent an angry Demeter over the edge. Unable to bear it no longer, certain that Eris was somehow involved and unable to take the goddess' spiteful jokes about her daughter disappearance she saw red. A vicious bloody red. She screeched with anguish and fury and with all her wrath leapt forward, control broken, and began pulling the thick flame-red hair of Eris and clawing at her face with her nails, her ears mute to Eris' laughter, imagining that with each blow she was in fact attacking and wounding the force that had stolen her child.  
  
With a mighty blow, Eris pushed the deranged goddess away from her and smiled in an almost friendly fashion at her, unhurt though her voice was somewhat malevolent. "You have plenty of fight in you, I see. I only hope Persephone does also."  
  
"I apologise." She said coldly in a low voice, thick with threats and blatant insincerity, the fire of her anger meeting the ice of her hatred. She had no time to waste on a spiteful stirrer like Eris. She was above that.  
  
Eris only clapped her hands, amused "No, I applaud you - a fine show." She said sardonically through delighted laughs, thriving on the negative energy, on the sheer emotion pouring through all the chaos, the truth of it all. It delighted and intoxicated her.  
  
Demeter bolted away, ashamed and enraged, only longing for her child to make all well again. She had to find Apollo, had to find Zeus, had to find Persephone! Left alone, Hermes gave Eris a look that spoke his shame of her. Eris simply gave a little smile behind a blank look and shrugged. On any other day, Hermes would have found it difficult not to smile at the dark humour she was now displaying and forgiven her, but not today. Not while his closest friend was missing and she had provoked that very distress. He took flight and bound for Zeus, knowing the sooner he was alerted, the sooner young Persephone would be found. Eris - alone - simply smiled a twisted grin to herself and strode off with a proud little march towards the chamber where the rest of the divine Pantheon dwelt, with a song in her heart and a spring in her step. Whistling.  
  
Demeter fled towards the west, her senses invaded by a brigade of a thousand thoughts, most of which were provoked by her previous encounter. She felt exhausted and longed for rest, to simply collapse and wake up to find out it was all but a bad dream and the world was as it should be. But no, she would persevere, unable to know peace until Persephone was found. She had to be found. As if on cue, Apollo appeared as she mused with panic whether or not the sun had set yet - her daughter's first night alone! - and bumped into her.  
  
Before he could apologise, she roughly took hold of his broad shoulders and gazed deeply into his golden eyes, so much like those of Artemis, with desperate sorrowful eyes, brimming with worry. Hastily, she begged him to tell her of what had happened to her daughter. He frowned, unsure how to respond, his heart heavy and guilt whipping him with the knowledge of his own ignorance to what had happened. Finally, he spoke.  
  
The moment seemed unreal to hear. She did not remember his words, only remembered the feel of all blur around her, of all hope destroyed. She felt the pressure of all her fears and sorrows overwhelm her. It did not seem real, but a grotesque parody of what was real, born from a scene from some ghastly nightmare, until Hermes joined a grave Apollo and broke the illusion and told her Zeus was awaiting her and all other immortals in the main hall. She longed only to sink to the ground, crouch forlornly in a corner an weep bitter tears, burning and corroding her maternal face with their hot descent, the scars of sorrow. She did not fall or falter, though she felt all her divine strength abandon her. All she felt was that terrible ache, that dreadful wound, that hollow feeling where her heart had been cut away. She hated everything in that moment. Yet she still had her resolve, her knowledge that if she gave up, Persephone would never be found, that her daughter safe return would have to be brought from her toil, not her tears. It was enough to drive her forward. But not enough to keep her heart alive.  
  
Meanwhile, in the lonely corner of darkness that was the Underworld her lost daughter crouched, her arms around her risen knees, head buried and abundant locks veiling her face, as if to deny the beauty that first caught her suitor's attention. Her suitor only looked on longingly, wanting only to lull away that fear, that hate, longing only for her love. Hearts broke above and below. 


	12. Chapter IX

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: I updated! Thank the Gods! To all my reviewers: I'M SO SORRY! I didn't mean to abandon this idea. I feel so low! It's just that I've begun work on my very own novel, so naturally, I haven't had hardly any time for fanfiction. I've been so excited about writing a novel - and still am! - that I almost forgot all about this! The updates are now going to be more few and far between, because I'm throwing myself into my original work, but I'm really going to try and finish this off. I hate to leave stuff half-finished! Please, if I start slacking again, feel no qualms about sending me a brigade of e-mails telling me to update; it'll give me the kick up the backside that I deserve.  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter IX  
  
Persephone no longer possessed tears to shed. The loneliness was a presence, like a pallid stillborn baby still floating like a dead leaf within her womb, its kicks cold and harsh. She could feel it draw its frozen bony hands over her heart and slowly crush it within its grip of iced shadows and impenetrable gravity.  
  
The festering grip of frozen loneliness also possessed dark Hades as he gazed with love and longing upon the object of his affection. His heart ached and writhed to see her so small, so sad. She crouched like a lost child, her rich earthly locks spilling over her sweet face, reddened by tears and marred by defeat. His heavy-lidded eyes gazed at her mournfully, tinged with despair; eyes as black as the abyss that he had belonged in until now, were bewitched by the sight of her. She was still so beautiful, so tearful!  
  
He felt such love fill him, such a desire to ease her pain and such a longing for her to ease his own pain. He saw a desperate reflection of his own loneliness and solitude in her. Suddenly, he felt so very low. But why? He would be kind to her, had his own sufferings not made him deserve her?  
  
He wanted nothing more than to give her comfort, to earn a look of kindness from her, to make her feel better. He only wanted her happiness. She had refused him, rejected him and he had never felt more alone or repulsive. He longed for the strength of will to return her, to give her what would make her happiest of all but his iron will dissolved into nothing once his eyes of blue shadow fixed upon her. He could not relinquish her. Her beauty still entranced him and suddenly a burst of wild hope would consume him and the Lord of the Underworld would dare to dream that such a fine goddess could one day look upon him not in fear, anger and disgust but with gentleness and love. It was too thrilling a possibility to risk by returning her. Surely, in time, she would love him?  
  
She sat, her skin drained of colour and fleeting dreams and replaced with an ivory pallor, her thick hair - gloriously dishevelled, as though he had run his cold hands through her locks - draping her shoulders with such warmth and depth to its texture that it resembled a warming cape. Her eyes shone a glorious green still. Her lithe young body, one that had just crossed the innocent outskirts of childhood into the first tender paces of womanhood was trembling as she held herself fiercely in protective rapture. She was so moving and bursting with life and heart, even when overwhelmed by the passive darkness of his dreary domain. Her mouth shook with indignant, terrified passion as she sat, quiet and still, like a slumbering earthquake, natural and sinless but with movements that could shake and stir a small patch of the earth. Her small hands occasionally clasped each other for strength over her shaken heart in a fleeting movement that made his heart burst.  
  
Even in darkness, out of her own element, she was not diminished in his eyes. She was still beautiful and all the lovely goddesses he had laid unfeeling eyes upon paled to dim figures against the radiant reality that was Persephone. So mournful she was, so lost and splendid that he could help but be melted to such tenderness, despite how her words of refusal wounded him. Her beauty was like a naked candle in a twilight room and in that still moment, Hades could not have looked away had his immortal life been at stake.  
  
She knew that look, that wide-eyed look of wonderment. She could not comprehend why he stared at her so. She was only Persephone. There was little to stare at. She had nothing no other goddess possessed, the were fully-formed and young, as was she. So why did he stare at her so?  
  
Yet his look unnerved her and made her more uncomfortable than she ever had in her life. She remembered with a chilling shudder how he had once reached out to her and touched her hair, his long fine fingers so close to her face. . . She pulled her arms closer over herself, huddling in the reflection of his darkness. She wished he would not give her those looks. She did not need to meet his gaze to know what would be in his eyes, how he would try to hide with shame how he stared so stunned, burnt and wide-eyed, like one struck down by lightning. Sometimes by accident her face would turn around to look upon him, as though her eyes were being pulled without hope or resistance to his face. Her eyes would meet his and she would feel her disgust melt away into pitiful confusion and how the look of the growing warmth in his eyes at such a look from her would freeze her, akin to Medusa's gaze. She was certain she felt her reluctant limbs stiffen into stone as they shared a look, a look that frightened and worried her deeply. It was not right.  
  
Always she would tear her mesmerised eyes away, with revulsion and anger would well up within her once more. How could he look upon her so warmly and yet not give in to her pleadings? She did not need to see his face to know the look he would wear as she tore his filthy form from her sight. He looked like a madman whose moon had been taken away. Such looks were not right and she wondered, both curious and repelled, why he looked upon her in such a fashion.  
  
Wondering about another being helped erase the dark a little, like a shot of light. It aided in shunning the cold of her surroundings and eased that crushing feeling of being so very alone.  
  
She had been left within the main hall, where shortly, she was to be wed. Hades reclined rigid and stony with his soulless throne, inviting her to take her rightful place at his side, attempting in vain to comfort her and trying - even more so in vain - to guide her vulnerable spirit towards his reasoning. She refused to look upon him, freezing him out, shutting all warmth away in the tightest regions of her heart. She needed the warmth for herself; she needed to protect it from the hungry darkness all around her. She sat upon the sharply cold slate of the floor, ignoring her dark suitor completely.  
  
She no longer felt like herself, like the child she was. She felt that the stain that had washed over her features, now so pale and fearful, would never be completely removed. She wished everything would revert to the way it once had been. She didn't like feeling the way she did; abandoned and alone without her mother to draw warmth and love from. She didn't want any of this to happen. The abhorrent darkness of this terrible world crushed her own light with ease and without that and her mother's influence, she felt so very weak.  
  
Shivers danced down Persephone's spine as she crouched, knees drawn up in a tight ball, as if trying to create a shell to protect her from all that was happening around her and lull her with false security. Yet it could not duplicate warmth. She was trapped; alone and terrified in a dank prison built from hulking slabs of shadow. She was alone, abandoned, forsaken by the light. She now dwelt in a kingdom of nightmares and loss. A thick globe of fear rose within her chest, constricting her. But more than the fear lay anger, surging forwards and propelled by the sense of complete betrayal that thwarted her well-known nature of love and forgiveness. If love could be as vile and sickening as it was in deathly, treacherous Hades, if it could cause as much heavy, thick misery, if it had the power to shatter her ideals of light, life and happiness and destroy the one bond she treasured more than anything, then she couldn't bring herself to want any more to do with the false, double-edged blade that the feeling was. She felt all her beliefs crumble apart, leaving only pitiful rubble in its place. She was alone and torn. She could almost feel where her skin could've split, could almost hear the hissing shriek of the split. She had nothing to draw comfort from, not even her old ideas of love.  
  
Except his cursed love.  
  
She could barely bring herself to gaze at him. She was loath to look up him. There was the one who had snatched her away from all she held dear, who had betrayed her and had forced a wedding upon her. The shadows glided and slid down shivering walls with imperious grace; Hades' shaded servants making the preparations for a marital ceremony. Already, it was clear that any attempt to escape would be thwarted, that those still shadows would be charged with black energy and enchain her before she had the chance to reach very far. Still she felt overbearing frustration at not even trying, however doomed the attempt would be. Surely it would be better than doing nought? She would not wed him, she vowed. She could not.  
  
She felt a sudden surge of hot anger penetrate her: how dared he do this? What right had he to encase her in his vast, dark tomb, kingdom of nightmares and despair? How could anyone bring such misery upon another so knowingly? She longed to hate him.  
  
Any other that experienced as much grief, as much shock from being ripped away from all they knew and love to be imprisoned in an ever-shrinking cage of all she despised may have wished for death. But she could not. She was already dead, dead in heart and spirit. Death did not grant oblivion or release, all it granted was what already surrounded and choked her. What she longed for was not death, but life. She wanted to live.  
  
She wanted her mother. She wanted to go home. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to beg. She wanted to demand. She wanted to run away. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to see some sunshine. She wanted to feel some life.  
  
All that existed here was repulsive to her, cries of despair that robbed all courage from her and consumed her with dread and panic filled the echoed silence instead of cries of laughing joy, warm and radiating with light. She had been so accustomed to the soft scent of flowers but now all that reached her nose was the repugnant stench of decay, of old rock harbouring cold cave waters and that lingering hint of fresh corpses. She had loved life, had simply rejoiced in the freedom that it gave, had been overjoyed to simply be alive and to be able to bask in sunshine. Now, there was no life. All that was here was the aura of something powerful enough to destroy life and crush happiness without mercy.  
  
She gazed outside a window, a window that had been created for her, as the dark Lord Hades had no interest in gazing upon his kingdom but had fancied that she, with her devouring childlike curiosity would find such expansive views pleasing. She gazed forth with weary eyes, scanning with renewed horror at the kingdom that was shortly - too shortly! - to become her home. The castle, perched upon mountainous rocks of gaudy gold, was of dark rock, with unknown depths, shaded cloisters harbouring one terrible vision after another, halls where the mould of a shadow could well be some horrific demon, nightmarish chambers, terrifying towers, tortuous turrets, staircases leading to doom after doom, dungeons filled with unimaginable torment and dark recesses that were nothing more than one abyss. All was shrouded in perpetual darkness and heavy shadows that slunk after every moving creature, haunting their steps, straining to push a little further out of the darkness to snatch the next unlucky figure and drown them within their agonising depths of heartless, total black.  
  
The sight of it was the most frightening thing her naïve eyes had ever beheld. The entire place of death seemed to howl through her soul of an unspeakable anger and loneliness. It reached deep within her, brushing against her soul, burning deep black welts into it. No matter where her eyes - once as bright as deep green forests caressed by stray sunlight, now muted to the dying green of struggling grass during a harsh storm - turned, she could never release her mind of the sight of it.  
  
The sight of the kingdom beyond the castle of unreachable and irredeemable shadow was far worse. It was a desolate land of little more than upturned gravel. Persephone almost wished for the skies to be the playing ground of a black tempest of unimaginable fury that scarred and scorched the sky and earth - at least it would be a show of life. As it was, there was no storm. Only a terrible stillness. The air was stale and putrid, with rare sounds to break its stagnant stillness, like that was of a puddle that was more thick mud than water. All she heard was the sound of her own heart thumping and the ragged sounds of her own breathing, crushed by the bosom of the burgeoning night. It was too still, with too many unexplored reaches that betrayed all the torments of the Underworld and too many wandering ghosts and above it, forever hovering through the liquid litany of unlit space was the eternal darkness without edge or form.  
  
The pallid rivers of the Underworld flowed on cast crag and ravine under a sky of freezing rock and lead. There was no big, blue sky that played and frolicked with large and friendly clouds, no wild breezes to kidnap loose strands of her long hair and no large beaming sun to bathe her in kind light nor a wise moon to whisper and weave its rich love upon a sleeping earth. All there was the jagged onyx and grey dank rocks and walls, full of trapped flotsam and jetsam, that formed a huge cave, gaping and impenetrable, a prison. It formed a false sky canopy that slurped against the castle's battlements and creaked against the darkness. There were no woods or flowers, only fields of waste.  
  
The heavy knowledge then hit her with its full force - these fields of waste, crawling with the moans of lost souls was all she would ever have. She would never again see flowers. She would never again see joy. She would never again see the sky. She would never again see the sun. She would never again see life. She would never again see her mother.  
  
Everything mixed into grey.  
  
It was too much.  
  
She stood up proudly, her small body rigid and determined. At her move, Hades also rose from his throne with the graceful movement of a rising shadow. His features first warmed with concern and then hardened and froze as he guessed her motives. He raised an eloquent eyebrow as he gazed upon her, his look soft rather than crushing and suffocating, as it had been moments before.  
  
A question dripped from his lips. "What is amiss, Persephone?"  
  
Her green eyes glowed with determination. But she did not answer, her icy silence - so difficult for her to mimic and master in order to face him - was a defiance.  
  
"Persephone?" He questioned further, keeping her name hot and fresh on his lips as if by repeating it he possessed it and her.  
  
"I am not yours." She said quietly, speaking her thoughts aloud.  
  
"Persephone, I offer you all. I offer you my realm, my riches, my throne and my heart." He said.  
  
"But I want none of it. I want nothing that you have so generously offered. I find your dark and deathly realm fearsome and abhorrent and I want it not. I have no love of riches or jewels an want them not. I have no desire for the power a throne offers and I want it not. And your heart. . .tender a it may be, it is corrupt and has caused me nothing but pain. I want it not and would not wish the gift of such a heart upon any goddess."  
  
She spoke her words with crushing sincerity and his face contorted suddenly, flinching in response. It was a small gesture, subtle and instantly repressed but she had caught it. She suddenly felt an awkward pity for her captor but refused to surrender. A terrible prospect began to burn viciously in the mind of Hades. She could very well hate him. It was an idea to be feared more than anything.  
  
His voice was controlled. "What do you want, my lady?"  
  
"Lord Hades, I only want what you have taken from me. Please. You do not understand how much I need the light, how all my world is made complete when I see the blossoming of a new flower. And you know not how I suffer - I shared a bond with my mother and now it has been shattered upon my entrance into this dank domain. I am alone! I am alone and afraid here!"  
  
His voice was soft. "You are not alone."  
  
Her voice was caught with a sudden flare of feeling as she cried out, "You are not listening! I am alone! I do not have my mother! You cannot comprehend what it is to lose her as if she never were, to always have another by your side and to suddenly be utterly alone! I feel less without her, as if I am a mere shell, without her warmth I am incomplete and hollow and it tears me apart in ways you cannot imagine as it is to bring myself to look upon a lifeless world. You do not understand."  
  
"I know the feeling of alone. I know what it is to love."  
  
Raw anger burned with a green flame within her soaring eyes. "How dare you? How dare you speak of my love like you have experienced love like mine? You have never known such a love and cannot miss it!"  
  
His voice quietened to low determination. He could not let her leave. Not now that she was here. He loved her.  
  
"Will you not release me, even if I must beg you?" she pleaded.  
  
"You are my only warmth." His voice with edged with despair and love. "You are my only dream. I love you."  
  
His words hurt her to hear but still she tried to push past them. "If you love me, then why am I not happy? Why do I feel so cold?"  
  
"Sweet Persephone -" he began.  
  
"Nay, say nothing. I love you not, my Lord. There will never be joy in this; only pain. You cannot wed an unwilling bride for a marriage outside of love is no true marriage. There would be no hope of your feelings ever being returned and we would both be trapped. If you love me, then release me. I do not want to be a part of your dream."  
  
"You do not understand how I adore you. You are all I have ever longed for! I love you as the shadows love this castle."  
  
"If you release me, I shall admire your courage and strength of will always. I invite you to wander out into the sunlight and I can show you all I love. I would do that for you were you to let me be free from this cage. I can teach you in the ways of the flowers and the big sky. You can learn to dance and be free. Please. Please, let me go. We will both wither here. Please, I cannot bear to remain here any longer. I want to go home."  
  
The childlike sincerity in her kindness was even more striking in her kindness than in her rebuke of him. For a moment, he quailed and his face softened towards her.  
  
"Please. . ." she begged, blinking back what had the potential to become tears. She did not want to cry in front of him.  
  
He considered. How terrible would it be to return her? He loved her - how could he stand being so cruel to her? Every inch of her misery was like a dagger in his heart. He envisioned her looking upon him in kindness in the sunshine, how brightly she shone in her own element. He could do it, it was not too late. . .  
  
"My Persephone. . ."  
  
Interrupting, a shadow servant slithered into the frigid hall with careless disregard for the debate within. Its voice was not a voice, but the sound of torn material rustling against the cold floor, forming letters and audible words.  
  
"Lordship. Ladyship." It whispered, its voice creaking against the silence. "The Chamber of Promises is prepared for the marital ceremony. We await you patiently."  
  
It changed Hades, that one moment, those few words. He awoke to the truth that he had Persephone now, ready to become his bride. Why should he give her up now? He wanted nothing but her happiness. He would prove her wrong, he would show her how he could make her happy. He could not give her up. He could not relinquish her to the light, not now that he got to be so close. How could anyone give up their only light? Always she was there inside him, eating away and now he had a change. She could be his. She would be his one dream.  
  
Persephone noticed the chilling change in his fine features and it sent a cold wave of raw fear washing over her, drowning her in surmounting dread.  
  
Hades' voice was low and decisive. "It shall be done. We shall arrive presently."  
  
He turned away so she did not have to see the look of betrayal in her face, to the growing warmth get stamped out and erased by hurt. He did not want to see her look as if he had struck her, as though he had flung the deepest heart she had revealed back in her face. He did not want to see the resigned despair, the hope that he had crushed. Nor did he wish to see how her eyes had filled with hope for him, the belief that he could be brought back to the light, destroyed. He did not want to see himself become a monster in her eyes.  
  
"Please," her voice entreated, hoarse and on the verge of tears, "do not do this."  
  
He lowered his guilt-filled eyes. "I am sorry." He whispered.  
  
It was done.  
  
At Hades' command, the shadows swarmed around her, weaving their magic upon her muddied and damp gown of pristine white. She felt their influence make her gown flux, move and change form as their power flowed around her in a serpentine tango, spangling her body with meteor dust as they wove a new gown for her. Their breath as they chanted their shadowy conjuration felt like a thousand butterfly wings flapping against her skin. She shut her eyes tightly to block it out. She did not want them to take her gown. Not her white gown, the one her mother wove! Anything but that! She did not want that taken from her too! She trembled but made no move against them. There was no hope no. No matter how she struggled, the Lord Hades would be triumphant. She had no heart to battle this newest violation of her identity as the Daughter of Spring.  
  
She the darkness retreated, she realised they were in another chamber altogether. This circular chamber was small and secluded, the floor magnificently tiled with black and white, making beautiful shapes and patterns as the darkness and the light gently wove into each other. A peaceful blue light illuminated the room, casting it in a pale glow not entirely different to moonlight. Other than the floor, this chamber was plain and nondescript, apart from the small altar in the centre of the chamber.  
  
She gazed without awe upon her gown of shadows interwoven with dusk and night's rich raptures. It was created from the finest and softest of materials and was heavy and long, trailing behind her like a perpetually cast shadow of her own. It glittered with devastating blackness, consuming and wild as the bleakest of nights. It flowed, clinging to her, dictated by her softly curved feminine form, glittering with onyx gemstones, each one reflecting a million minuscule facets of light that covered it in a pattern that suggested flowers. The arms and shoulders of the magnificent gown was also laden with jewels; black sapphire and black pearls, set in ornate frames of dark gold. Her hair, now looking richer and softer than ever, had been built up, braided and twined in more jewels.  
  
It was nothing like the simple dresses she was accustomed to. She was glorious, a true creature of night and wealth in such a masterpiece.  
  
She hated it.  
  
She felt nauseous.  
  
Hades looked at her helplessly. She was magnificent. The green of her eyes sparkled the more against the shrouded black of her great garb and he felt his awe of her expanding with every gaze. Even garbed in black, painted with darkness, she shone with the uniqueness of the light. She was every inch a queen, whether or not she was willing to admit such a thing.  
  
"You shine like the sun, my lady." He said, shocked into sincerity by her loveliness. "Come," he beckoned, leading her, his powerful arm linked in her own dainty arm "fear not what lies beyond."  
  
She knew too well and was full of fear. They were to be wed. She was about to marry the darkling Hades. She struggled as vigorously as she had upon first entering his shrouded realm, but she was too uneasy with the weight of this alien gown for her protests to be of any consequence.  
  
"I shall not be yours!" she cried, but to no avail. "You may be bound and promised to this body in matrimony, but it will not be me. It will not be me!"  
  
He dragged both their bodies upon the carved altar and forced her to stand upright next to him, his grip on her like frozen iron. It was only desperation that pushed him forwards, that drove him to selfishness. He tried to block out her struggles. Soon, it would all be over and they would be wed. He kept his arm around her waist and held her to him so she could not break free.  
  
The room groaned with the music of a thousand voices and it reduced Persephone to trembling silence. She could not win. She was certain she saw three haggard faces stare at her in the corner of her eye. She froze. She remained still, knowing the Fates were watching.  
  
Hades spoke, his voice ringing strong and true with imperial dignity and the grandeur of the God that he was.  
  
"I, Hades, eldest son of Cronos and Lord of the Underworld do decree that I have selected Persephone, daughter of Demeter and Goddess of Spring as my bride. Before the Fates and all the powers that bind the man and the woman I do with all my power bind myself to my chosen and do bind her to me in marriage. Everlasting love shall reign as I take Persephone as my Queen, to hold her by my side for all eternity. This I pledge."  
  
He turned to Persephone, placing his chilled hands on her shoulders reassuringly and gently turning her to face him. He spoke again, his voice gentle and tender. "With a kiss, I do bind us as King and Queen and do honour the one I love with my realm, my wealth, my throne and my heart."  
  
He was hesitant, unsure as he leaned in to kiss her and bind her in marriage. It was a moment he had burned for - to be the husband of Persephone and to finally be able to touch those soft, young lips with his own. He looked into her eyes, suddenly vulnerable. Would she accept his kiss? He was caught up in a feeling both sickening and thrilling; the nervousness and fear mixed with the hope and anticipation of being able to kiss her, to be able to taste her lips, her love, her light. . .  
  
Persephone was gripped with dread, a dread that robbed her of movement, like a mouse in the presence of a snake, knowing that the snake it there and that it is dangerous, yet being too afraid to run. She felt the terrible anticipation make a tide of nausea rise within her. Her body was rigid as he neared her and began leaning in closer and she remained as taut as a bowstring. She did not relax but only became more tense and fearful. This was something others did, not her. She did not want this. She screamed inwardly to move or struggle or cry out but fear robbed her of the ability to do so and all she could do was watch, powerless to stop it.  
  
He leaned in closer until their lips were mere inches away. Persephone was terrified. At the last moment he paused, again unsure, fearful for both of them. But the moment was too delicious for him to delay, their breath was intermingling and her ripe young lips were too close for him to bear to resist. And so, gently, he completed the distance between them in a tender kiss. She did not respond, but remained inert. He demanded nothing, his kiss as chaste as ice. It was enough. It was paradise. It was Persephone. Her lips were as warm and soft as his were cold. Persephone. . .now his radiant Queen. As their lips touched, the chamber blazed momentarily with light, then diffused. It was done. They were bound by marriage.  
  
He withdrew and saw her, still rigid, almost lifeless, her eyes empty of light and joy. A single tear slid down her cheek, leaving a stain like a snail's path down her creamy face. Hades was suddenly overcome with shame. What had he done? Why had he wed her when she had begged so much? How could he have put himself above the one he treasured above all things? A tide of remorse swept over him but it was too late. He reasoned, nothing could change it now - why not leave things as they were? She would be happy in time.  
  
Gently, he escorted her outside, as a doorway appeared in the shadows. She walked with him without resistance, mute and stunned. She had been married. He had betrayed her. She was led alongside her new husband to an obsidian balcony that overlooked the entire Underworld. She gazed in horrified awe at the parody of a kingdom that lay below her. It was disgusting. No life, now plants. Only death and nothingness. She fell off the edge of despair and into the abyss, her last hope extinguished with that icy kiss that bound them.  
  
Hades took her hand in his own and proclaimed, his voice penetrating throughout the Underworld, "Behold Persephone. Behold your Queen!"  
  
Suddenly, waves of voices, croaking and despairing in death rose in a monotonous chant, each more powerful than the last, until the final wave of voices reared up in a frenzied tempest of lifeless celebration, roaring with all the souls of the dark realm rose and crashed upon Persephone's ears, speaking the one word she never wanted to hear.  
  
Queen. 


	13. Chapter X

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Well, I don't update for five months and now I'm posting two instalments per day. I guess it tips the cosmic balance back in my favour a bit. Nearing the end of Part Two now! Ooh, out of curiosity - has anyone heard the song 'Persephone' by Cocteau Twins? It conjures some superb images just by the sound alone. Very nice. Go listen.  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter X  
  
A crown was conjured from smoke and ash, crooning with divine darkness and took magnificent form upon Persephone's beautiful head, settling passively within her flowing long curls of healthy brown. It was large and everything an imperial crown should be, its frame carved from black gold and was studded with shimmering diamonds adorning it like a sheen of glittering raindrops, an armour of light. She felt a lump rise in her throat; she had never seen anything so beautiful or frightening. It had been designed with soft padding on the interior and yet she still sensed a headache looming, as if to spite her. She felt tired, as though she hadn't slept for days, though in reality this was to be her first night in the kingdom of darkness - the first of many nights. The atmosphere was so oppressive; time drawing out each miserable moment, making it difficult to define how much time had slipped past. Perhaps she had been there for a hundred years already.  
  
She had been escorted around the obscure outskirts of her dark home and had been shown its unlit heart, as though to be ruler of such a realm was a thing to take pride in. She shivered. The Lord Hades - she refused outright to think of him as her husband! - had lavished her with kind words and with gift after gift, one magnificent creation after another in a vain hope to earn her love. It sickened her.  
  
She had been adorned in jewels and the wealth of all his riches and yet she was not swayed by such petty gestures. What was it to one who possessed all the earth's wealth to give her a few pretty trinkets? She detested them - they were wrong, false. They were without life, without substance, they carried with them no songs nor laughter, only a hard regret at being ripped away from their massive collective of rock, to have been torn from the earth, from all they knew. She trembled like an uneasy mountain flower in a strong wind; these gems echoed her own story. Would she eventually become like the stones she wore - all glitter and no depth apart from regret?  
  
It seemed revolting, to be adorned by her own fate. It frightened her. Yet she had no choice; all Hades had to offer she had refused and yet all the same she had to wear them. She wanted to tear them away from her, to cast them away forever before they polluted her with their mournful dazzle! They wore her, not the other way around. They were heavy and screamed of her imprisonment, like chains rather than jewels. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment; she would have given anything to wear flowers in place of such parodies of adornment! She wanted to wear her sweet little wreath! She did not want to wear sandals! She did not want an elaborate gown!  
  
A terrible thought flickered in her mind - what if she forgot the tender scent of flowers nestled in bright fields? What if she forgot the feel of the sunlight warm on her back? What if she would eventually forget her bright world after so long in the dark? What if her mother became nothing more than a pale memory?  
  
The darkness of the smoky den of the room gathered around her like a cloak. The room was grey and dark apart from several pale torches, dim fires of false bombast, illuminating only the table by which she sat, the figures of herself and Hades and a few tapestries hung from the walls. She sat in an elaborate ebony chair facing the Lord Hades, on a grand table intended for a banquet. Tonight, it was a banquet for two. The thought made her sink back further into her chair, hands clutching each other in desperation, her eyes lowered. The very same thought brought a quiet smile upon Hades' face; for so long it had been a banquet for one. Yet he noticed, despite the feast that had been prepared for them, Persephone did nothing but sit quietly, refusing to look upon him or touch the exotic and wondrous food prepared for her.  
  
His dark voice wove the line between noise and silence together, so shaded a whisper it was, like the rustling of a spider's web. "Beloved Persephone, will you not partake of this feast in your honour? It would give me much happiness to see you eat; this day has been trying for you, you are doubtless in need of sustenance and good food shall restore you."  
  
She looked upon the feast of succulent shades, all edged with the shade of tangerine, from the surrounding flames. Her throat and stomach yearned for them. True, she was desperately hungry as the few hours that had passed since she was and innocent girlchild had become terrifying years of misery. Yet her memory fled back to one day in the temple of Athena, being taught by the owl-eyed goddess of all the regions under the command of the Gods of Olympus. She remembered how she had been possessed by fiery pity for the one that should have to languish in such a vile realm. More importantly, she remembered something vital that Athena had divulged to her.  
  
"Child, if ever you do tread out of the territory of your own bright element and find yourself in the consuming darkness and solitude of the dead Underworld then remember do not sample any of the culinary offerings the realm possess. For it lacks life and gives the pretence of life and health in order to rob such life from passers-by. Remember, sweet child of light, taste not the sweet offerings of Hades, lest you wish to remain by his side throughout the ages."  
  
She looked at the delicious food, ripe with temptation, their brightness attempting to seduce her into devouring them. She looked again, taking strength from the words and teachings of Athena - how she longed for advice from her wise friend! - and looked upon the meal again, as though it was poison.  
  
"I am not hungry." She said quietly.  
  
Hades' voice rose in distress. "But surely you will eat something?"  
  
"I will not, my Lord. I have given my answer. I am not hungry."  
  
"Very well, my love," he said soothingly. "You have had a day that would rob anyone of the desire to dine. It matters not - it is the food of immortals and shall keep until later when hunger revisits you and shall be as glorious, ripe and glistening as when you first laid eyes upon it."  
  
Her voice was low. "I-I. . .I shall not be hungry then."  
  
He raised his eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"I shall not be hungry so long as I remain here and shall not partake of any of your offerings, delightful though they may be to mine eye."  
  
"Persephone, please listen to reason. I do not wish my beloved to suffer and starve like the wife of a lowly slave."  
  
"I wish not for your food. You know what it shall do to me, as do I. . .I am no fool, Lord Hades."  
  
His voice was level, though his sapphire eyes burned with desperation. "You are my wife and are already bound to my land and myself. The food shall make little difference. Please, dine with me. I do not ask this from a malevolent wish to thwart your every hope but because it pains me to see you punish yourself. You are paling, Persephone. . .please eat, if only a little. Else I have fine drinks to offer you - accept one of them in place of food, would it only restore the colour to your face."  
  
She looked up at him, the green boughs within her eyes spread with vulnerability. Suddenly, she was unsure of herself and afraid again. He met her gaze, comfortingly, and held it, his own eyes warming.  
  
She thought of her mother. Her mother would find her. Her mother would find a way to put everything right once more.  
  
"Nay," she spoke, voice quavering. "I wish not for these meals. I am a goddess - I shall not take the appearance of one starved."  
  
He looked crestfallen. She suddenly felt an abstract sympathy for one who was trying so hard to please her. But no, no matter what his intentions, he had wronged her terribly. She still stood strong and proud in the light of the right, despite feeling guilt for causing pain in another.  
  
Her voice, tinged with awkward remorse, rose up shakily, timidly above the silence. "I should take my leave. I am sorry." She rose hastily.  
  
Quickly, he rose also and glided across to her like the graceful but powerful flight of the moon. As she stood and began to rushingly place her grand chair back by the table, he was at her side.  
  
"Please Persephone, pause." He said, gently placing his cold hand on her shoulder to halt her. He sensed her body immediately stiffen and become akin to wood at his touch and instantly retracted his hand, cursing himself for so bold a movement. Yet, his words hung thickly between them, commanding her to stay. She complied, wondering why he was not angry and impatient, as she feared he might become. He took a few steps away from her, guilty for having stood so tantalisingly close to her, expecting her to run away now that he no longer stood in a path. An ember of happiness glowed as he saw that she made no move to leave. She was so sweet, so lovely. . .  
  
"Please stay." He asked.  
  
"But I am not to eat. . .there is no purpose in remaining here."  
  
"Will you not sit with me? Will you not speak with me?" he asked, his voice pained.  
  
"You wish to speak to me?"  
  
"It would give me great joy to be given the honour to share conversation with you, Lady Persephone."  
  
Her voice betrayed the regretful tug of nostalgia. "I told you once not to call me by that title." She said, her voice empty, leaving Hades unsure whether or not she was simply talking to herself.  
  
"I suspected you would now retract that honour from it."  
  
"I have not." She gave a ghost of a smile, reminding him of how captivating her cheery smiles were, how much light could shine from even the smallest of her smiles.  
  
"I am undeserving of such a favour."  
  
"You hurt me, yes. But you were not undeserving once, when I made that choice. I thought us friends. Once I would have liked us to be friends." Her voice was warmer now.  
  
His heart felt ready to break open his chest, so full it was with feelings for her. How he longed to see her smile and dance once more, to see her happy.  
  
"You have no idea how greatly you have honoured me or how much such a gesture means to me - you give such maddening hope! There is nothing I can give so great as this happiness such kind words has given me. There is no honour that can equal to this, no request impossible. If only I could reward such feelings with something of equal value!"  
  
No sooner were the words out of his mouth did he realise what he had said. He stopped short. Not that. She could not ask for him to release her, not now. She did not ask, but her eyes, so mournful, said it all, betrayed all she longed for in her bright world. He saw it all without her needing to voice any question. But he could not. He could not return her and never look upon such eyes again! He snapped his head away from her sorrowful, innocent gaze, his ebony hair swaying a little with the uncharacteristically quick movement. He would ignore that look, wipe it from his memory. There must be something else he could give her.  
  
With a fluidic gesture of the hand, a dazzling object was conjured from nothingness into solid, glittering reality.  
  
"I have a gift for you. . ." he said awkwardly, full of guilt, knowing he was only trying to divert her attention, to give her a thing without importance to her. He felt truly detestable. He drew out a fabulous necklace of diamonds, each individual gem shining with radiance. "It will look beautiful upon you. . ." he began, attempting to slip it upon her neck.  
  
The moment she felt the cold of the jewels press against the tender skin of her throat, she recoiled, bursting away from him, holding her own hand to her violated neck, as if to erase its trace from her skin.  
  
"I want it not! I have no love for such things! If you think to please me with objects then conjure a flower, conjure a tree, conjure some light but do try to sway me with lifeless jewels! They do not warm my blood not stir my heart, only harden it. Learn and show me life." She cried out, outrage shaking her very core. "How can you think that my heart and mind will be brought for such a tiny price?!"  
  
Puzzled bafflement washed over his sallow features of ivory. "Tiny price? How can you call such a thing by that foul epithet? Look upon it - it is a masterpiece, laced with thousands of jewels! I wanted to glorify you, to see you wear all the stars of the sky upon your neck! Such an object of such a 'tiny price', as you call it, could feed a starving family for generations of great comfort!" he said in desperation, trying to bend her sight to his own understanding.  
  
Her voice was strained with angry passion. "Then give it to a starving family, not to me, who has no want of it! Indeed, if you would display such generosity by sacrificing it to those who need it, you would come far closer to reaching any region of my heart than by forcing such shallow dazzle upon one who is sickened by the sight of it. Do not understand? You have not seen the stars in the moon-painted sky at night and know not how such gems pale next to them. I have no desire to wear star-like jewels upon my neck, but to once more see the real stars adorn the sky!" Her eyes were desperate, tearful. Why could he not understand?  
  
"I cannot help you, Persephone, no matter how my heart longs to." He said despairingly. "I do not wish to be alone again. To give you up would be to steal my own stars."  
  
The necklace fell from his hand, falling like rain for one moment before evaporating into shadow and dusk.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Eris lounged in the vast dreamscapes of the chambers of Olympus alone. Every deity had fled their heavenly kingdom of luxury to soil their hands by gracing the earthly lands to search for little Persephone. Demeter had poured out terrible grief, her face worn and harrow with worry and the entire Pantheon had scattered - even the mighty Zeus himself - across the mortal lands to search for the helpless girl.  
  
Demeter had cried; not tears of happiness as she had in golden moments with her child, but now tears of helplessness as she imagined what terrible things had befallen her. Still, she inexplicably blamed Eris for whatever had happened, for bringing strife upon her daughter.  
  
How laughable, Eris thought to herself. Yes, Eris fed on spite, like a wound teased again and again, never being allowed to heal and was known as the one who caused all troubles. But to think that Eris had any interest in Persephone was foolish and did both mother and daughter too much credit.  
  
Yet, it was still an agreeable situation. It was be interesting to see what discord would do to mould the little child. And it gave Eris a moment alone to appreciate the solitude of Olympus. Olympus. Empty. Hers. At least, until someone returned. She loved solitude as much as she adored the confusion and hustle-bustle of huge crowds. She had learnt to appreciate the joys of being alone with her thoughts long ago. She tossed her mane of flame-like hair back and grinned to herself, lapping up the moment. Her eyes, like a boar's eyes - too small, too black apart from that garnet glimmer, and too shiny, smiled with her.  
  
Without reason, she was joyful and malicious all at once. At that moment, she began to sing a tune she had picked up along her travels. She enjoyed singing, despite her off-key tones. It was about being loud. She smiled inwardly at the memory at how many immortal frowning faces turned towards her as she disrupted a previous gathering by bursting into haughty song. Such fun. . .!  
  
But soon, the stillness and the pleasure of being alone became boredom. She never felt right if she was not actively going about one task or another. A brilliant thought struck her - it would be interesting to aid in the search, to see if she could add a little spice to the dreary procedure, perhaps even ignite Demeter's rage again. She - unlike the others - had noticed the soil of the mortal coil. It did not bode well. It betrayed possible famine. It would certainly make the time of the search more interesting.  
  
She walked away with casual swank, whistling to herself, as was her habit. Quizzically, she wondered what was happening to little Persephone at that very moment.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She felt a dread so terrible that it froze her heart as a grave realisation hit her. She was not numb enough to withstand it. The Lord Hades had noticed her tiredness and had suggested that she retired to bed. The very thought filled her with fear. She did not know much about married life but she knew that husbands and wives shared a bed and their bodies, whatever that entailed. She wanted to scream. His cold, clammy kiss had been enough to last her a lifetime and the prospect of all the hidden terrors of a marital bed reduced her inwardly to a whimpering child.  
  
However upon reaching a huge chamber, her fear reaching an apex so tremendous that she felt certain she would faint, they stopped at his huge double doors of grey stone, harbouring shadows between its elaborate carvings and impressive arch.  
  
"This is your chamber. Rest well, Persephone." He said quietly, his eyes drinking in the sight of her.  
  
"My own chamber?" she asked, with all the shyness and naivety of a child filled with hopeful gratitude.  
  
He reached out and tenderly took her small hand in his own, before brushing it with his lips. He looked deeply into her eyes, hoping she could see into his soul. Hoping she could see how much he cared for her.  
  
"I would never harm you."  
  
The honesty and love in his words spoke for themselves, leaving Persephone overwhelmed but still resentful at his cruelty for not returning her. She smiled unconsciously. He felt himself basking in its glow and felt the thrill of impulse and love course through him once more. He kissed her hand again and withdrew his lips a mere inch from her hands, almost brushing her dainty fingertips. She stared, mesmerised and something deep inside her tried to hide itself. Only then she realised she was trembling. The tension between their prickling bodies was unbearable.  
  
Like a retreating shadow he withdrew and walked away into darkness, becoming one with it.  
  
A voice penetrated the chill of silence and dusty air. "My Lord Hades, are not your own chambers to the north? For surely, you seem to be walking back to the main throne room." She had no idea why she spoke but curiosity had prevailed.  
  
"I have duties I must attend to." He responded, vowing to make sure to make time for his beautiful bride in the future, however demanding his duties as Overlord were.  
  
"Do you not sleep, my Lord?" Her question was sweet in its innocence.  
  
"Rarely. There is little need for it."  
  
It sounded so wrong to her, who had always slept every night shortly after the setting of the sun. How could he not sleep?  
  
"Do you not dream?"  
  
He gave her a penetrating look that she not place. It was one of the ways that he gazed at her. It unmade her nerves. Then, he returned to darkness and shadow and was gone.  
  
Creeping into her chamber alone once more, Persephone felt the solitude crush her. Her air was cold and dusty. Her room was large and well-furnaced but soulless and so very dark, without windows or candles. There was a shallow attempt at a carving of forests and flowerfields in the stone walls. But there was no colours to it, no life, no breath. Suddenly, she felt her own breath fall away and shattered by the totality of her solitude with a husband that could never understand her, she flung herself on the huge walnut bed and cried herself to sleep with bitter tears she had so long repressed. She did not know how long she lay there, weeping, calling out to her mother, longing to be held, to be soothed, to be told that all would be well. Eventually, when her energy and tears were drained away, weary sleep possessed her and she drifted away from the waking world in misery and terrible loneliness.  
  
Morpheus did not discover her whereabouts that night, as he had planned to so carefully. For Persephone did not dream that night. 


	14. Liber Tertius : Queen of the Dead

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: So, maybe I won't be sticking to the two-chapters-per-day rule; that one was just a one-off. You guys are lucky. Besides, I think two in one day would be hell to actually have to write. . . Anyway, on with Part Three! Ooh, around the halfway mark now. . . Sorry that it's just a poem and all ::guilty look:: The next proper chapter will be up soon!  
  
Liber Tertius: Queen of the Dead  
  
She sits  
  
In her throne of night.  
  
She stares  
  
Into hearts of darkness.  
  
She shrinks  
  
As fear overwhelms all.  
  
She sighs  
  
Her crown is so heavy!  
  
She squirms  
  
Escaping death's gaze.  
  
She sees  
  
A love too terrible.  
  
She sleeps  
  
Lost without tender dreams.  
  
She screams  
  
How afraid she is of the dark!  
  
She stops  
  
Determined with hope.  
  
She stirs  
  
Awakened by black warmth.  
  
She stands  
  
Tending to her duties.  
  
She sings  
  
And the sun shines! 


	15. Chapter XI

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Ok, I updated again at long bloody last! Sorry this chapter is so short! I know it's going slow. . .one update per fortnight and all, but my exams are closing in on me something awful right now. My education hates me and won't be satisfied until I'm locked away in a padded cell somewhere. It relaxes, gives me time to start a writing project and then strangles all the inspiration out of me by going insanely strict. It's a repeat-until-insane kind of method. Anyway, thanks for still being there guys! Thanks for all your patience with me - it'll be rewarded one day, I swear. As to your questions - Rainne, could you please give me a link to 'Embracing the Darkness'? I'd love to read it! Hekate, I like your suggestion for including Hecate in the fanfic, I'll try and bring her in shortly. And to Saki - thanks for sending you fanart of Hades and Persephone, it's beautiful. Persephone is perfect! One more important note for everyone, I've changed me e-mail address, so if anyone wants to get in contact with me, you can now find me at ariadne@btopenworld.com - I look forward to hearing from people again!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter XI  
  
The halls were cold. Hades resided in darkness and the chilled air that was neither dead nor alive embraced him with ashen reluctance. The hall, where he sat in his cold throne, now placed beside the empty throne of his bright queen, was without a trace of the passion that had burnt so fiercely in his young bride so recently. Instead, the grand grey chamber was hushed and sombre, the air thick with the solitary sound of her first broken sobs, a singular sound, echoing off unfeeling walls. They were both alone - he in his throne room and she in her chamber.  
  
Would she rise soon and leave her chamber? Would she greet him? Would a few uninterrupted hours have led her to accept her fate? Each thought was a thread of hope that Hades clung to like a lifeline. In truth, there was no telling when she would leave her chamber of dark wealth as there was no way to distinguish between day and night in her new kingdom - the Underworld knew neither. Instead, it was a decaying cradle for the time in between, the darkest hour, past midnight and approaching dawn, yet plunging the world into deep blackness. It festered like a carcass of peeled skin and ate any new brightness, in a desperate need to rejuvenate itself. He paused. He would not go to her, but allow her to come to him.  
  
His own time was neither one of day nor night and was not separated so. His life was one long, eternal hour without sleep or waking or dreams. Sleep was a luxury unknown to him, apart from the early days in which he sought the oblivion it offered as means of escaping his tormented feelings for young Persephone. His life consisted of a flow of duties - to reside over souls, to judge and punish, to keep an all-knowing eye fixed upon these souls - and also a stagnation where there was little at all to do but recline in darkness and left at the mercy of his own thoughts. Thoughts of darkness. Thoughts of anguish. Thoughts of loneliness. Thoughts of longing. He never slept; instead he remained awake and steadfast, like a cold black statue with the eyes of the abyss. It left his spirit eternally heavy and weary from all the pain of the waking hours.  
  
Elsewhere, Persephone had begun to understand that pain, that stale chill of weariness, of a longing to slip out of her skin and escape it all. She had sobbed upon her bed all night, spilled out a portion of her sorrow, an aspect of how heartwenching and painful her alienation was upon silks so smooth and dark, they could've been woven from the black of that fateful eclipse. She cried, with no-one to hear the sound of her sobs, the terrible sound of one completely alone, with only the sound of her own ragged breaths to listen to.  
  
How starved her spirit was! How grey and flaccid it seemed, as though something had drained all the life from her, leaving her torn and lifeless. Even the memory of bright things, of soft scents, of wild air gave no comfort. It only reminded her of what she may never again hope to see. All the future had to offer her now was different shades of mundane, alternating features of the despair of drowning blackness, different hues of rot and death.  
  
More than anything, she missed her mother. Again and again, she had reached out with her mind, calling out to her desperately, always expecting to hear her. She always expecting to hear an overjoyed cry and feel her mother's warmth scoop her up like a fallen child, hold her in her large arms and make everything well again and to take back all that was bad and frightening. Each time she faced not just disappointment, but the crushing renewal of her loss, of her fear. Without her mother's presence to guide and comfort her, she felt as though the better part of her was dead, as if an element to her that had always been tangible was now gone forever. For the first time, she knew what it felt to be alone. She felt that lost, terrified feeling wring the hope and brightness out of her. She wanted her mother! She wanted to cry once more, but realised she had not the strength to do so. Time bled into the darkness and soon ceased to exist as she wandered like a disembodied spirit across her expansive chamber, lost in the dreary whirl of her own thoughts, trying to shut her eyes and remember the sunshine. She tried to twirl and dance with such joy and freedom as she once had, re-enacting her fondest memories and grass, the sunlight on her face and the big blue sky. But she could not. It was not the same. Somehow, the darkness had seeped in to even her most colourful memory, and here, in this drizzly realm, those colours had been dulled.  
  
Outside, she heard and authoritative rap upon the huge doors of her chamber. She did not even need to sense the overwhelming grandeur, the sheer power and imperious, consuming darkness to know who it was. From the other side of her door - his mind awash with all he sensed from her, the battling strength of her spirit, her life, her warmth, her light, the great capacity for love she held - Hades silently cursed himself. He had vowed in cold blood to allow her to come to him, as she eventually must, he reasoned. But he found himself, as always, pursuing her, unable to stay away from her. Her light was a single shining beacon in the darkness and despite all his cold, pragmatic reason, he could not fight it and was drawn without hope or resistance towards it, yearning for a single fleeting touch.  
  
He longed to look upon her and see his own reflection in her eyes of springtime, to confirm that she was looking upon him. He longed only to hear her voice, to have her speak to him with her tender, chiming flow of soft words. He wanted only to take it away, to make her happy once more. He would wait forever, if only for the chance that she might speak to him.  
  
Inside, Persephone stood, limbs frozen. She knew she ought to answer him. Yet she could not bring herself to. She did not want to speak to him. Though, she realised sadly, there was nobody else to speak to, not a soul that would listen. She knew she bizarrely felt in his debt for not bringing her to his own chamber upon their wedding night. She still remembered that terrible, screaming dread. She knew not exactly what was to take place between husband and wife to pass by the cold nights and yet she knew there was nothing she feared more desperately. He had spared he and for that she felt gratitude. But still, she could barely bring herself to look upon him or even think of him, to talk to him was a labour she did not wish to perform.  
  
And still, she felt herself drawn to the door, knowing him to be standing outside in vulnerable silence. Why did she feel his voice speak to her in sympathy? She now understood his loneliness because she felt it to, as she felt herself move towards the door. Did she truly want to speak to someone so much? Why was she drawn towards the door? Why was she considering opening it? Was she considering speaking to him?  
  
What was it he wanted? Persephone could scarcely comprehend how someone could want to see her and speak to her so often, how he could be so bone- chillingly devoted. She felt a question of her own rise: if he loved her then why did he steal her away? Why did he not ask for her hand? Surely even one made from shadow and shroud, filled with despair and death could not have known only greed and selfishness, she supposed. A light flickered behind her jaded green eyes. An answer she wanted, and an answer she would receive.  
  
It was as if her body consented to something her mind rebelled against. Stiffly, she strode towards the door, unsure and feeling very small and lonely. Trembling, she reached out, her wavering arm dancing falteringly in the chill of the black air and opened the door. . . 


	16. Chapter XII

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Again, I'm very apologetic about the huge spaces of time between my updates, but my exams are closing in and most of my free time I have to use to study so that I don't fail miserably. I'm sorry to keep you guys hanging on like this, I know it isn't fair to everyone out there that looks forward to new chapters. I'd like to apologise to everyone I haven't been e-mailing as dutifully as I should, too - especially Kate. But I just don't have as much time as I used to. On the happier side, as soon as my exams end, things should pick up!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter XII  
  
The hinge creaked and let out a low chilling groan, as Persephone opened the large ebony door of her chamber. She felt her small body press against its dead wooden weight and begin to push the door open, surprised at its heaviness. It felt like the ancient, smothering weight of the darkness itself. Yet, for unknown reasons, she was forsaking her solitude and wrestling with this heavy door, pushing against it - and why? To reach Hades.  
  
The child in her was responding to his presence, the child that always had the time to lavish her affection and care on simple flowers and small animals. She knew it was wrong to deny him, especially if he wanted her company. Ever since she had arrived, she had felt a cold bitterness bite at her soul through the icy seas of her loneliness and sorrow but she refused to let it conquer her. No matter how sad she was, no matter how afraid, no matter how angry, she would not become cold and dead, she reasoned. She would not let this terrible world freeze her spirit and kill her, piece by piece. She would always be doomed to cry and beg to be returned if she kept hoping, she knew, but better to cry and always cling to the springtime she lost than to sit in the dusty gloom of her chamber and become one with its haunted chill. She would bring a little of the brightness into this world, not let the black misery of this world taint her. Besides, her mother would surely rescue her soon.  
  
She promised herself to be as she always was, not to let the despair of the Underworld infect her. She knew she could not reach her mother, so she would have to pretend her mother was there, watching her. She would have to behave in a way that would make her far-away mother proud. She could succeed in that, she supposed, by being as kind as she could to Hades, even though he had not been kind to her by taking her down to the lowest layers of death and darkness. Opening the door to him would be enough for now, she thought, feeling very brave.  
  
She opened it only a little, just enough so he could see her little, childlike face, awash with a sorrowful pallor through the black piercing darkness of her chamber. Timidly, she peeked out, inquisitive and pensive. Darkness greeted her. She shivered in revulsion and sudden fear of all that was not natural to her as the chill of the dead met with her. Were there no candles to light the cold stone halls, not even a glimmer of light?  
  
The darkness sent a bolt of fear through her, as if with a single look, it could shatter her completely. For a brief moment, she wished that the nauseous horror that had been twisting and growing in her lost spirit would take hold of her and sweep her under its icy waves, if only to find oblivion and peace. She was suddenly so full of fear of the silent darkness that she wanted to faint. But she could not. She was suddenly angry at herself - it seemed she had too much of a spine to faint from fear, but she was still far too sensitive to the gripping power the darkness had over that to faint would be no humiliation, but a mercy. Everything was so dark! The darkness seemed to be stretching out to her, threatening to consume her. It was smothering her. Despite this, she held on to her determination and did not run back into her room but still timidly peered out into the shadows. She wanted desperately to scream or faint but could not. She was so afraid of it!  
  
Suddenly, she felt herself in the grip of a new feeling, a feeling that gave her a sudden burst of courage that for one brief moment dashed against the darkness. She clutched her small hands desperately over her heart in a fleeting movement. She felt, beyond her fear, a great pity. Not for herself, but for others. She was a goddess, who knew not of the terrors of mortality whilst mortals were cursed to wander through this shrouded realm of dank secrets and forbidden darkness as cold, lonely spirits, as torn from their natural world as she was. And they were humans, who had not her supposed strength of spirit. She was queen of this world, given an expansive chamber, surrounded by shaded servants, attended constantly by the dark Lord Hades, always given company and - had she desire for such things as jewels and gowns - would be given all she desired. And still, she felt like a prisoner, thrown into the deepest, darkest dungeon. Her heart bled for those countless others beneath her who wandered into the lower regions of this pit of a domain. How terrible they must feel! How alone, how afraid! Surely a thousand times worse than she did!  
  
It did not belittle the terror she felt, as she knew she was right to feel so alone and afraid. However, it hugely magnified the suffering of others. She, who had known nothing of suffering and pain in the lands of the sunshine could scarcely comprehend how awful a thought it was. It filled her with courage and resolve but also made her want to collapse on the pitiless cold slate of the floor from the agony of her sympathy. It was the most overwhelming grief she had ever known.  
  
And yet she was Queen. Perhaps she should act the part, she thought, as long as stayed there, which - she hoped against hope - would not be long. She must not feel sorry or sad for those lost souls, but do something to help, as she had helped limp and weary flowers deprived of the joy of sunlight or the relief of rain. It gave her a stronger determination to survive the darkness.  
  
After so many hours, she had hoped to become used to its drowning reaches, its festering stranglehold. But no, it still sent a terrible chill down her spine, still repulsed her, still made her want to call out to her beloved mother. It made her feel like a lost little girl, scared and cowering in the dark, crying out for her mother to save her. Each time she was faced with another disgusting facet of this unnatural darkness, so different to the gentle, natural dark of the night, she felt herself call out to her mother, in a plead to be rescued from all that was horrible and frightening. Always, she received no reply other than the hush of the depths of the darkness.  
  
Staring into the dead air of the bleak halls, she felt a terrible dread fill her, a dread she had been unable to escape since arriving such a grey wasteland of a kingdom. She felt so small and vulnerable in its twisted grasp. It frightened her. It betrayed a thousand twisted nightmares and secret terrors and horrors she had never before imagined, and now those fears of the chill blackness haunted her. It was a fear that lived on the inside of her, clinging to her terrified soul with the cold grip of a drowned corpse, dampening her brightness with the murky iciness of fear. As she looked into the languishing shadows, her fear grew and grew as she felt the darkness become more and more powerful, dimming her light to a distant ember.  
  
She felt every fibre within her scream in alertness, aware of a terrible danger but all that surrounded her was darkness and silence - the weight of solitude. Not only did it have her trembling in silent fear, host to a thousand secret terrors but it also made her poignant longing for the light and the familiar warmth of brightness and less all the more desperate. But all the light in her world was stolen. There was still no light, no life, no flowers, and no beloved mother: only coldness, blackness and the still scent of death. It unnerved and frightened her beyond comprehension, as it was everything that she was not, in its most monstrous, crushing form. She was afraid, but still she stared out into its haunting reaches, her gaze quiet and searching.  
  
But beyond that terrible abyss of black and emptiness, as she scrutinised its dark terrors, she saw something different. Blue. Out of the pits of deep pitch blackness, came a sudden light, the light of colour. The deep blue of a thousand distant seas with no end, only layer after layer of deeper blue. It was almost calming, to see a colour that was not frozen but filled with the rich texture of emotions and life. At the same time it was shocking, to see a shade so vivid and powerful against the murky black and shadowed greys of her surroundings. The blue shone with so many different feelings, impossible to discern or understand; soft, deep and thick enough to drown in blissfully. But it also carried a harsh glint of coldness that chilled those moving sapphire depths, that faded them in a mist of loneliness. Now, fixed on her, the sorrowful shade was completely unguarded. And so alive, she thought with a sudden thrill of joy. Alive!  
  
She found it impossible to tear her eyes away from such penetrating, beautiful colour, gripped with a sudden love for it simply because it was as alive and lovely as the distant seas skirting her dear island-home. She longed to never have to part with that colour, to never have to leave it, as she felt the richness of its emotions embrace her spirit tightly. She wanted only to stay with that innocent, intense, tormented colour, the only thing that soothed her soul since she had been first brought to her dark new land. She wanted to absorb that hue, to become inseparable from all that it meant to her, to never have to leave it and its blue brightness and return to the darkness and shadows. She had never known such incredible yearning. She belonged there, in that beautiful, deep blue, she realised and wanted nothing more than to remain there forever.  
  
Only then, after drawing the few moments out into a too-brief eternity of peace, did she realise that she was gazing into Hades' eyes.  
  
She gasped sharply in disbelief and jumped back, jolted back into reality, flailing wildly through a feeling of reeling horror and disgust. She had not known it was him! In her previous reverie, she had forgotten he was there entirely and the blue had taken her so much by surprise that she had not recognised its source. Soon enough, it was not just blue she could make out, but the entirety of his eyes, followed by a flawless face of ivory, smooth, raven-black hair and finally, his heavily-robed figure, tall, imperious and - as always - garbed in darkness. How long had he been there, inseparable from the darkness and shadows until he finally emerged, one detail at a time, from his consuming surroundings?  
  
She suddenly felt attacked by a thick delirium of horror. Not only did she feel shock at his sudden presence as well as a little portion of fear and unease but a burning anger at how he could dare do such a thing - to spring from the blackness, at one with the silence, like that? To frighten her so! She was ignited by indignance as she glared at him with childish fury and humiliation, a humiliation that burned bitterly in her belly with desperate righteousness. More than the shock and the hurtful sense of confused pain at his sudden appearance, the angry embarrassment came from shame, also. A shame that burnt every inch as bitterly as the humiliation. She was ashamed and appalled by her initial response, how she had been so enthralled by the blue of his eyes, how she had suddenly burned for them. It was horrible, to now know that it was the eyes of her captor that had her so bewitched. She was outraged at both him and herself. She felt exposed, hurt and filthy.  
  
More than that she felt confused. Why had she reacted like that? Why had she not recognised the blue as the eyes of Hades? Why was she so ashamed now, so angry? Innocently, she tried to discern her own feelings, picking out individual emotions from the massive tide of feeling that had washed over her so suddenly and completely. Still, she had no way of understanding them. And still, another question nagged ferociously at her: did Hades' eyes always look like that? She felt more confused than ever. Shyly, she glanced at his eyes, to find them as sorrowful and frozen with crusading intensity at ever. Why had she not noticed it before? It was too fascinating to behold, so abruptly, she turned her eyes away, dizzy with questions. Now she was aware of how he was looking at her, as if she was something unlike anything he had ever beheld before. More than that, he looked at her as if he could see into her very soul. It worried her. Nothing made sense. Why did she suddenly know that whatever fascination and wonder she had felt for his eyes was so wrong? She was an innocent, struggling to find her way in a brave new world.  
  
All those feelings were channelled into anger. Not a bitter, corrosive anger but a sudden, irrational, childlike burst of feeling that needed some form of outlet. But she had no idea how to express her sudden anger: part of her wanted to run from it and Hades, to retreat back into her chamber. Another part of her wanted to scream and stamp her tiny foot in a childish temper tantrum, to purge herself of the massing feelings. Another part of her simply wanted to cry, to let hot, furious tears stream down her face and burn her reddened cheeks. Anything to make the sudden emotional whirl leave her alone.  
  
But she did nothing. Instead she stood there, frozen, her emotions only mounting inside the cage of her small body. She felt it rise and grow within her, like a thick, heavy globe rising past her ribs. Her anger boiled and massed but then, as it reached its zenith within her still frame, died down into distant ashes again and was lost. There was no way she could react but to stay still and let it run its course. She felt used - abused by her own irrational feelings. She had stood there, still and flaring silently, her chest heaving, her face livid. But she had done nothing. It was gone now, the feeling was over. All that was left was the wearying aftershock as she had to pick up the pieces of herself and make sense of what exactly had raced through her in that moment.  
  
Hades gazed on, transfixed. She was terrifyingly lovely and still so delicately unfathomable. He longed to understand all she had felt in those moments since she had graciously opened her door to him. He knew his gaze and haunting devotion made her uncomfortable but she was a sight too fascinating to flee - everything about her was bright, beautiful, endearing and gentle. And so splendid. Little did she know, but her face alone brought all the light of her tender heart into his solitary kingdom. It called out to him and he craved only to be allowed to see more, even if it left him starving for an opportunity to speak to her. Always, without any awareness at all, she left him dazed and helpless as one struck by lightning, with agonies far more deep-reaching.  
  
He had known she had not seen him when she first peeked out of her door, the simple gesture alone filling his miserable heart with vulnerable hope. She was reaching to him, searching for him. She was afraid of the darkness, but he saw her driven on by a courage he had not seen before, a bravery that empowered both of them. She looked as if someone had struck her with a sword, thinking to slice her in two with ease but had hit upon a core of pure steel, sensitive but solid and the touch of her steel had shattered the offending sword in two. More than that, she looked as if the reverberations of the sword striking her core had rung through her entire body, awakening her, making her aware of this new inner-strength. It was profound, it was heartbreaking. He realised that she had reached a cathartic strength and peace with herself. And that it meant she would never resign herself to her situation but would always prevail to find her sunshine. In the face of such defeat, he knew it would only be right to return her but he was so in love with the new facet that had been revealed. He longed only to be closer to such delicate strength, such gentle nobility. He could not bear to part with her.  
  
It had hurt to look upon her. She had been weeping, he could tell. Her face, usually so rosy with life, was pale, as if washed to pallor by many cold, sorrowful tears that left her face untouched and pale, marked only by a distant unhappiness. Her head had been tilted pensively as she looked outside her door, her expression more gentle and kind than curious, fearful, cold or angry. Her thick brown locks had began to fall loose of the elaborate regal wiring and drape down her shoulders, the locks deep and free. Her small but full mouth was as inviting its ever. Her lips, shaded the palest of rose-pinks, were parted ever so slightly, as if she were about to speak but her words had been frozen in her throat. Her pallid expression, weary and wounded but surviving, told him that though her words were frozen, her beautiful soul was warming them in her throat, ready for when she would speak to him.  
  
Her eyes. They were what captured him the most, the part that held him so helpless because through the bright green knolls of her eyes, he saw the spirit shining through with the same moving strength and frailty. They glistened with her recent tears, giving a deep but bright shade of leaves newly kissed by rain, shining ever the brighter and more brilliantly in the sunlight. The look in her gentle eyes had been so questing, so open with every emotion - every fear, every longing, every hope, every inspiration, every burst of bravery. In looking upon her, into those eyes, at last he knew peace.  
  
She had been so afraid, he could see it shine through clearly and sincerely, the sheer innocence of her fear both captivating and endearing. It gave him the sudden urge to shield her, to hold her and protect her, to allow her to find her own strength within him and then to plead with her to share it with him, so that they could both prevail. Together. Then he saw sympathy and anguish glisten there, finally followed by a fading but surviving courage strong enough to face down her terrible fears. He felt proud to see that, to see the light and sunshine within her heart dispel a little of the darkness around her.  
  
He longed for her to see him, as shadowed and hidden as he was. He longed to see himself reflected in those lively green eyes, bursting with such innocent passion. Inwardly, he begged her to see him, to look upon him.  
  
Then she had turned and her eyes met his.  
  
And the world fell away.  
  
Her eyes! They had been filled with such love, such longing, as if she had finally found true freedom, compassion and understanding within the cold blue depths of his iced eyes. His own eyes bled with the renewed intensity of his love for her, as he used all his willpower not to gather her in his empty arms at that very moment. He had been frozen with fear and vulnerability as she gazed upon him with such warmth, clearly not recognising him. She had looked as though she finally found a state of belonging, as if a great happiness swelled inside her and bled out of her, not in pain but with such tender love. Her longing matched his own and burnt with a gentle flame that could consume deeply, nonetheless. She looked upon him as though he were the rarest rose lost in a dead chilled field, a newly-found treasure. It was she, however, that was found - never had he seen her look so beautifully discovered, as if she wanted to be his forever, as she wanted him to be the only one to keep her from the blackness. As if she loved him.  
  
It was a sight that he knew would haunt him until the end of time. More than that, it was a sight he would forever treasure and cherish. Were the world to some day end and he with it, the dazzlingly tender and deep look in her gaze would be the image reflected in his eyes upon that fated day. Whoever it was that would see him end, would see her again in his dying gaze.  
  
He had stepped forward then, thinking to touch her smooth, pale face, to alight his feeling further but in doing so, he had returned the both of them to reality. She had paled then in horror and stepped back in shock. He was not hurt by this, only grateful for such a brief blessing, but still thirsty for more. Now he only wanted to erase the look of hurt and confused shame from her face as she regarded him with gaping horror. She looked so lost, all he wanted to do was take her confusion away and give her rest but now she could not even bring herself to look at him. Then she had stood, fuming. Clearly, she blamed him and he was not so sure himself if she was entirely wrong to do so. And still, she awed him, now her strength was in motion. All the girlishness had fled from her face, chased out by her anger and a young woman had been ignited by the fury she felt. The change had him entranced and enchained, gazing deeply at her, prying into her soul, like one possessed. He regarded her that way now, longing for her eyes to meet his, so he could be given at least one glimpse into the spirit he yearned for.  
  
Hesitantly, feeling awkward because of her sudden anger and silence in his imposing presence, unsure of why she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation, Persephone spoke, her gentle voice hushed. "You were outside my chamber."  
  
He nodded gravely, the motion surprisingly fluidic. "I confess, I did linger, Persephone and I also knocked upon your door. I apologise if I disturbed you - it was not my intention."  
  
"If not, then what was your intention?" she asked with innocent curiosity, only slightly laced with the smoky tone of her previous anger towards him.  
  
"I desired only to speak with you, if you would allow my company." He replied.  
  
"Is there much you would like to say to me?" she asked quietly.  
  
His voice was as lingering and hushed as the light of the moon. "I abhor knowing that you are in solitude, I only wished to perhaps ease any loneliness and discomfort. Also, to speak with you would give me great happiness."  
  
The corridor was silent, the pause between them heavy. She bit at her lower lip, feeling awkward and suddenly sad again.  
  
"Do not!" He said in sudden alarm, his tone not commanding but concerned.  
  
As he spoke his impassioned words, he brought a chilled hand to her lips, to try and still her action. She froze, no longer chewing at her lip, but staring at him, feeling and outstretched finger still pressed against her lower lip. She now realised why his eyes had frightened her: his gaze felt the same as his touch. She was suddenly quite nervous. He withdrew his icy hand, his eyes humble and apologetic, still locked onto hers, her own eyes large and searching.  
  
She spoke. "Is there much you would like to talk with me about, my Lord Hades?"  
  
"There is much, sweet Persephone."  
  
She flinched slightly at his use of a term of endearment but with a hesitant smile, tried to wave away her instinctive reaction. She shut her door behind her and stepped out into the cold air of the halls, giving Hades a brief flicker of a smile and timidly allowing their conversation to begin. She was acutely aware of how close the few steps forward had brought her him, so she turned towards the corridor, preferring to walk closer to the cold walls than to risk closeness to her husband.  
  
She remembered how she wanted to learn more about the wandering souls of mortals and their fate. Thinking of that, she realised that in the presence of the lord Hades, the surrounding blackness was not so frightening. She gazed at the ground, relishing the fleeting feeling and felt herself more at ease. Better to hear his voice, she thought, than to have to look into his eyes. She shivered at the memory; the answers she longed for again evading her as the Lord and Lady of the Underworld traversed down the dark halls of their domain, sharing their first taste of discussion.  
  
"My Lord," she spoke up, her voice an untethered but lonely thing "I would like to see more of your realm."  
  
"Our realm, dear Persephone."  
  
"Oh, yes. Ours." 


	17. Chapter XIII

Epitaph Empress  
  
Author's Note: Ah! To write again! To rediscover my beautiful, beautiful muse! To not be punished by evil, evil university, interviews, forms, essays and coursework! Life is wonderful! And Christmas is here! Now, getting off that high for a moment, my apologies to those kept waiting for the next update (I hope the fact that this chapter is extra-long makes up for that) and my thanks to those who didn't spare me from a good prod when I deserved it. I hope to have more time to update this more often from now on, especially as the holidays are coming. On with the story - enter Hekate! Enjoy!  
  
Epitaph Empress  
  
Chapter XIII  
  
Zeus had spoken. His command rang and thrashed throughout the heavens, roaring and rumbling like the most furious and brilliant of tempests. None could ignore his words.  
  
"Here this, my brethren. It is my command and it shall be so that we must all search. Not one of us shall be spared. All will aid in searching for the Spring Maiden. No stone shall be unturned, no creature with eyes or ears unquestioned. No place will be too small or too insignificant to look. Our duties will come second to Persephone. We shall scour our kingdom and beyond. We shall use all our powers, all our servants. We shall inform our priests and priestesses, so humankind will know of our search. We shall tell of our quest to all wise animals, that they may also play a part. Persephone, daughter of Demeter, shall be found. Go."  
  
And so it was. In a blaze of light, in a deluge of brightness, the Pantheon departed Olympus and spread out. First, Sicily had been thoroughly poured through. Then, the search spread to the kingdom of heavens, as the Gods fled across the great sky and divine lands, calling out to the missing child. Now, the search had reached the earth, the humanlands. The Pantheon rained down upon the earth, spreading their influence far and wide, calling assistance from all, covering the lands like a war, their desperation reaching outwards towards the lost goddess. All searched, scanning, tilling, toiling: they flurried across the earth, pouring over land, spilling across areas of enormous population to the quietest, remotest region Above.  
  
All searched. All searched with frantic anxiety burning their hearts, none with a heart more frantic than that of the Lady of the Harvest, none with a heart so scorched with pain. All searched, and yet not a trace of young Persephone could be found. Not even a whisper of the name of one who may know what had befallen her was heard. The Daughter of Spring was lost and Demeter was thrust into a world of anguish.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The divine kingdom was empty. Empty of every divine presence, save one - one most divine. From the shadows and shades of the past present and future, she wove herself from intangible thoughts into the appearance of flesh. All around her was hushed as whispers of knowledge heaved out of the darkness with her. She watched, as was her destiny. To watch and to know.  
  
To those with the wisdom (or perhaps foolishness) to look upon her unabashedly, she would at first appear to a shape as formless and sexless as the cold, dark moon. She was tall, imposing, casting a long dark shadow behind her that always rested upon the doomed. She was swathed in thick black robes, robes that appeared as heavy as knowledge, as stark as the truth, as grim as the future. These robes trailed to her feet, gathered at her shoulders and concealed her face beneath a dark cowl. It seemed impossible to discern whether or not this figure was old or young, male or female, weak or strong, pitiable or fearful. Until one looked harder. . .  
  
Looking at her face beneath her hood, one could see nothingness. Her face was not there, in its place a semblance of a face that seemed made entirely out of a flat, black rock. It looked like a mask carved out of deep, polished onyx of the most penetrating black, a black that shimmered a pure white when touched by the light of the moon. It was a face without features, save one. Her eyes. At first, they appeared white and ghostly, like the eyes of one born blind. But these were eyes that saw all. If one dared look hard enough, they would see beyond the appearance of murky whiteness, clouds, deepening, greying clouds that held everything within them, all the wisdom of all worlds past and all worlds to come. Beneath the blind white was a dark splendour that held boundless knowledge and reflected a thousand fates. She was Hekate.  
  
This was her form, and yet, it was not. When she became the maiden, the robes around her would shift in a slow, gnarled dance, concealing her utterly, and when they fell back into place, this time they would cling sensuously to a clearly feminine figure, diaphanously. The hood would reveal a face, no longer like dark, unfeeling stone, but warm, pale and fleshly, full of the beauty and freshness of the future. The cowl would fall back to release ebony black hair, flowing wilder than the waves. Her eyes, as wide as innocence, would darken to a thunderous, tempestuous grey- black, thick and heavy with wisdom beyond that of any mortal maiden. This was Hekate. This was the maiden.  
  
This was also her form, and yet it too was not. When she deemed it that she should cast aside the knowledge of youth and take upon herself the knowledge of experience, yet again the robes would consume her with their blackness. Her face would age, ripen, mature, become lined with the passing of life, begin to sag with the shadows of the future, of the decline it must inevitably bring. Her robes, still dark and imperious upon a goddess reverberating with ancient knowledge, understanding and power, would cling to young flesh no more and now press against the stomach of a woman great with child. Her hair would begin to lose its youthful richness and begin to thicken and dry, and of course, become touched by thin slivers of age, threaded with grey. But in her eyes, still, lie power and wisdom, the wisdom to observe all in the present, to still look towards the solitary moon. This was Hekate. This was the mother.  
  
Yet as always, this was her form, and yet it was not. Her eyes could dim, pale and appear glazed and weary with age, the benevolent knowledge within a mere spark that only the wisest of mortals could deserve to see within their perceptions. Her skin could wither, yellow and fold upon itself, twist into something lined and knobbly but wise and become home to a thousand scars of longevity. Her robes would shift, the child within her disappearing within the barrenness of age. Instead they now betray a gnarled lump of a woman; a small, twisted body, built by brittle bones. Her solid robes, looped and festooned down her form like a candle dripping wax, would cling to a frail, breakable body, a hunched back, her hood hiding a face bearing all the reflections of all experiences of life, the greyness of the slow departure from that life. From beneath that hood, thin straggles of unkempt white hair would fall awkwardly forward, perhaps in an attempt to hide her barren, haggard old face. But within her eyes, hidden beneath the eyes of age, lie the eyes of a crone. One who is stronger than others allow themselves to believe. One deeply immersed in all the knowledge and wisdom of the ages, one who has seen all of the past and understands all. She is Hekate. She is the crone.  
  
Hekate watches. She watches the silence. She watches the emptiness. She watches the bare traces of grief, panic, fear and concern. She watches all that went on before. She watches and knows. She knows of Zeus' command and the reason for it. She knows the outcome that will weave itself, given time. She knows that Zeus shall command her to give aid also. She knows that he undertook this decision, despite knowing her oath to never intervene in the shaping of events. She knows where it will all lead. She glances over the frail emptiness and her eyes flicker for a brief moment. She flickers with it, and with the darkness, she disappears.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As she ploughed her way through the mortal coil, weary with fear, calling out again and again to her child, allowing herself no rest and no respite, none could be more frantic than Demeter. Cold terror bred inside her heart as she thought of her darling child. Where was she? What was happening to her? How could she find her? She was filled with livid horror at the thought of how afraid her daughter must be, what terrible tortures her child might be put through. She was terrified. All that mattered to her was that Persephone was found, was safe once more. Nothing else could ever take precedence over that.  
  
The child that had never left her side was gone. For a moment, a brief and tiny flicker of a moment, she lost all fight. Worry had left her weary. She felt as though she had not the strength to go on, to push ahead. All she wanted was for everything to fade away and leave her in peace. She felt entirely bereft of any feeling other than the questing need to rescue her poor child.  
  
But the terrible, dark moment passed and was gone forever. She knew that whatever she suffered, Persephone was suffering much, much more and no matter what, she could never give up. She had to find her. She had to make sure her poor little girl was safe again. Fear and love renewed Demeter. Her Persephone was lost, afraid! She was waiting for her mother to save her! She could not the gathering darkness destroy her will, or her love for her daughter. Her love for her child was what caused her such anguish, such crushing weakness, but it was also what drove her on; it was her undying light, the core of her unfading heart. Demeter shed tears but was undefeated. She would not stop. She would never stop.  
  
If the situation were reversed, if it was Demeter that had vanished, then Persephone would never think of abandoning her search! Persephone would search always! And so she must search always, she would search until her beloved child was safe in her arms again.  
  
The Pantheon (including Eris, who observed the sorrow and confusion around her with a malicious smile teasing her mouth and a scathing light in her glimmering eyes) had emerged from the lounging carelessness of Olympus to attempt wave after wave of searches for the child goddess. It was all they could do, and yet Persephone remained lost.  
  
It was an agony for Demeter to face Eris - she felt her heart weigh down within her, reaching down to her very bowels in a terrible hybrid of heartache and nausea as she beheld the Lady of Spite, sick with certainty that it was she who had stolen her Persephone. And Eris' sly, spiteful mockery of her pain only confirmed her suspicions, setting them in stone. And yet she was helpless - she could do nothing about it. Her heart boiled and seethed with love and anger.  
  
She remembered with sharp poignancy the first time she had taken her child to Olympus: Eris had encouraged the little child to wander off and then she had disappeared, leaving the child goddess quite lost and alone in the expansive halls of Olympus. Demeter remembered with a pang of fear how she felt her child's cold terror reverberating down their bond, how she had instantly appeared by her daughter's side, scooped her up in her arms, and comforted her crying child. She remembered Persephone's tiny whimper, the trembling of her voice as she told her how frightened she had been all by herself. She also remembered how she had held her daughter - how small, how fragile she seemed! - promising her that she would never again let her lose her way, that if anything happened to her, she would never stop searching until she was found. She also remembered how she could scarcely believe how even Eris could do such a cruel thing to a harmless child.  
  
A whirling confusion descended upon Demeter - she was sure that Eris had stolen her child and yet Hermes had told her that this was impossible, that he had been with the Goddess of Discord the entire time. And yet she was so certain! Who else could it be? Who else was capable of such cruelty? And where was Persephone? Worry blurred all her thoughts and rationality and she was only able to focus on two things: her pain of being without her daughter and her fierce, heroic determination to never stop searching. The most important thing to her was finding her child.  
  
She thought of her brethren. The atmosphere was thick with an intense sense of anxiety. Since the great search had began, she felt her own fear and uncertainty take root in her divine kin. Persephone was beloved by all the Gods; each had their own sentimental attachment to the child (for they still thought of her as a child) and more and more the thought of something dreadful happening to the daughter of Demeter shook them to the core.  
  
Others were concerned because their thoughts were tending upon themselves - if such a thing could happen to her, could it not also happen to them? What if a new creature had arisen that had the ability to destroy Gods, its first victim being the maiden goddess Persephone? What if she had slipped into a new world, a fate that might also be their own?  
  
However, most were concerned with Persephone. The Pantheon all knew her to be a sweet, innocent, bright and loving little child and none wished her ill. It chilled their hearts as nothing else could to think of her, torn from her mother. To think of the sweet girl alone and afraid was a new kind of pain, even to the most thoughtless among them.  
  
Zeus Thunderer grumbled to himself and though he, as always, bristled with brute masculinity, prowess and divine glory, he had the appearance of one troubled by deep-reaching thoughts. He was magnificent and his presence drew all his kin around him, as if to bask in his kingly glory and yet all his selfish and lawless thoughts melted away into worry for his one child by Demeter. He looked toward his sister-lover often now and saw such uncharacteristic misery look back upon him. She had inherited so many qualities of their mother, Rhea, and once he had desired her and taken her as his own and then allowed himself to think of her as a sister once more. He had been pleased by Demeter's adoration of the child and even took moments to observe the sweet youngling. As she had grown, beautiful though she became, no desire for her untouched body inflamed him. To him, she would always be a child. Now that she was gone, taken away by some terrible force, his wrath was as great as his determination to have his daughter returned. His anger sparked the sky with terrible strips of hot lightning and the thunders gathered and roared his fury.  
  
Apollo and Artemis stood as partners in guilt. They felt nothing but the sickness of anxiety burning deep within them, the knowledge that were it not for their few minutes of neglect then Persephone's whereabouts would be known. Apollo gazed into emptiness, trying to discern from faint images of the future what would happen to her. But all was darkness. Artemis was swifter, prepared for movement and action. Already she had her nymphs, hounds and deer on the ready, prepared for a massive search. She was a natural hunter and had thoroughly planned how to use her talent to locate the missing child.  
  
Athena was poised and still as one turned to stone, but her mind was racing ahead as she considered all the possibilities, as she thought of all that could have happened to Persephone, as she also considered the best place to look. She had decided upon commanding Arachne and her kin (who were now all naturally obedient to her) to weave their webs, scattered throughout the lands, with messages, instructions words of comfort, in the hope that they would be seen by the young goddess. Yes, if Persephone still dwelt upon the face of the earth, then she would see at the very least, one web. She frowned inwardly, her turn of thoughts sorrowful, as she hoped to herself that her sometime-student would remember her lessons and use her wits.  
  
Hera was beginning to soften and concern began to breed within her breast, although her pride would never allow her to admit it. She felt bitter at seeing the Lord Zeus' worry for the girl and once more felt the coldness of being supplanted by another woman, however different this case was. And yet, as she saw a terrified and broken-hearted Demeter, her heart swelled with pity for her, her home and hearth. She was also somewhat disturbed that some terrible darkness should prey upon gentle and pure Persephone; of all of them, why the innocent girlchild? She resolved to ardently aid her sister in her search. Also, if her most-glorious husband saw how passionately she devoted herself to their search, perhaps she could once more inspire his marital loyalties, she mused to herself.  
  
Aphrodite clung to Ares, much to the amusement of others and to the ire of her own ugly husband. She cared not. In her tearful state, she chose to cling to her lover for support. The goddess of love felt overcome by a terrible agony of melodramatic grief for the young Persephone. What had happened to her best, best little companion? Oh, her poor virginal little friend! What could have happened to the little girl? Thinking of all the times they had talked and laughed together made her full of anger and grief. If someone had hurt the little thing then she would put the worst, most terrible love-curse she could conjure and would fully unleash the terrible, vengeful, spiteful, merciless side of love upon the creature! She was certain that she felt her heart breaking - to lose the darling little thing, the one goddess that did not treat with disgust, suspicion or jealousy. Oh, how terrible! What could have happened to the poor thing? Had a centaur ravaged her, perhaps? How awful! She deserved not to lose her purity in such a violent way, but to a lover that attracted her, that aroused her, one of her own choosing! What a tragedy this was! The Goddess of love felt full of love's wrath. She buried her face in Ares' chest as she searched wept beautifully.  
  
Everyone seemed terribly shaken, each moved in their own way. But none so shaken, so disturbed, so fearful, as Demeter. Hermes kept near, speaking with her often and trying his utmost to personally aid her in searching, giving a wan smile and attempted to cheer her up and give her hope but his attempts were quite useless. His words of comfort fell on ears that no longer knew what comfort was, not without the presence of Persephone. Demeter had looked upon the God of Messages and saw that he was no longer so bright and chatty, but deeply moved and faded somewhat by the extent of his concern, by the loss of his friend. He could not pretend to Demeter any more than he could pretend to himself that he was not full of sickness and fear at the thought of something happening to his favourite child, his little friend. Whatever had happened to Persephone, he was certain that she was entirely incapable of defending herself in any way.  
  
Demeter lamented to see what fear and love had done to all those around. Her heart bled as she saw the suffering of others, as she saw how deeply Persephone had been loved. She longed for her precious daughter. She longed for the world to be alright once more. She longed to make the world alright for Persephone. She burned with bright determination - her little child would be found as soon as possible, whatever forces responsible for her disappearance would be punished. Everything would be well. Persephone would be found and she would never leave her poor child all alone ever again and soon, Persephone would forget whatever had happened to her in the midst of all her mother's love and all she loved from the world she knew.  
  
She gave out a silent command and soon, nature shifted and danced and in the flicker of a moment, a nymph was by her side. The fair creature looked troubled.  
  
"My lady." She said, her voice trembling with respect and exhaustion.  
  
"How goes your search?" Demeter inquired desperately.  
  
"We have found no trace of her as of yet, our Goddess of the Grain. She seems quite removed from this land." She spoke with her eyes lowered, both from reverence and from nervousness of her Lady's reaction.  
  
Demeter somehow that her hope would be crushed, even before it had happened. She spoke, her voice low and plaintive: "Do not say such things, little nymph. My daughter, your charge, shall be found. We shall not give up until the Lady Persephone is safe and restored to her mother's side. We must search and search again, we must spread ourselves across areas far and wide - she cannot have utterly vanished. We will find her, we must. Have you gathered all your fair sisters?"  
  
"Yes, milady." She replied timidly.  
  
"Are they searching as we speak?"  
  
"Yes, milady - they do search as each of us has done, including yourself whom you show now mercy to, but -"  
  
"But what?" Demeter asked, her voice suddenly strained and tired by her worry.  
  
"But. . .my sisters and I. . .we are all so tired, Ladyship. We need rest. The earth begins to ache and we ache with it. Lady, you have neglected it and it begins to become brittle, dry and cold. It is affecting our strength."  
  
"Are you so tired? So weak? Persephone has not been lost overlong!"  
  
"With greatest respect, my lady -"  
  
Demeter interrupted. " Do dispense with the formalities. Readily and speedily give me any news that affects my search for my beloved daughter."  
  
"Bounteous Demeter, you punish the earth and you punish it most harshly. It is unbearable and looks to become so very much worse. You feed your anger, your anguish, your grief into it. It screams as you scream inside. It aches with your agony. You allow it to feel your pain too keenly, Lady."  
  
Her face softened. "I allow your kin some respite; I forget you are unlike myself and that your bodies demand rest. Understand, I shall forego my duties as Goddess of the Grain in order to search for my child, I cannot afford to waste time -"  
  
The nymph ventured further. "But time spent tending the earth and crops is not time wasted -"  
  
"All things that distract me from finding precious Persephone is time wasted! This time we use to discuss the matter is time wasted! Whatever agonies my daughter must endure, she must endure more with each passing moment! I cannot waste the tiniest amount of time! She needs me! She needs me more than the crops need my attention and kind ministrations. I will search for her and I shall have no rest until I find her. The mortal lands can survive my absence for a short while. I shall diligently return to my duties once my daughter is safe and happy."  
  
"My lady -"  
  
Demeter gave a slow shake of her head. "Nay. Say no more, nymph. I know your concerns for they are mine also but greater yet are my concerns for my child. Rest, if you must, but it is my command that you give all you have in your waking hours to aid in Persephone's rescue."  
  
"I will do so with all my heart, Lady." The young nymph replied.  
  
"Then leave me and speak no more of this. I shall continue my search." She concluded the conversation, her voice troubled and grave.  
  
The nymph bowed and vanished and Demeter was once more alone and feeling the solitary agony of a mother without her darling child. In this state of grief and determination, surrounded by bitterness, love, fear and hope alike, she abandoned all reason and rationality and strode forward in the musky night air, calling out her child's name. No, she vowed. She could never stop until her sweet Persephone was with her and safe from harm once more. She did not notice the small flower at her feet begin to wither and decline in its own tiny, starving agony.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The darkness was not a darkness Persephone's eyes could eventually get used to. No matter how many times she tried to breed bravery within her heart, the chilling darkness would slash through her courage effortlessly. She shivered, and unconsciously stepped a little closer to her husband. The only sign that betrayed that he noticed this was the tiniest glow of warmth in his striking blue eyes.  
  
They had walked together in silence since leaving her room. She had questions she fiercely burned to ask, but her resentment of this held her back. They stopped at a balcony, overlooking much of the dreary, dead land. Hades hoped to explain much of it to her, hoped that she would begin to feel awe, begin to appreciate the magnitude of what he offered her. But it struck fear and disgust deep in her heart. Oh, how she missed the light! How she needed to see but a single flower!  
  
"My Lord Hades?" Her gentle voice was quiet and timid, yet somehow brave and searching.  
  
"Yes, sweet Persephone?" he replied. Each time she spoke to him (with that maddeningly gentle voice!), new hope, new warmth was born in him.  
  
The dense silence of the realm in which she resides absorbed her into it. She thrust her lower lip out, putting her chin up assertively as she looked at him. She was determined to speak. What little, false, lights there were in the halls of Hades' grand abode caught the line of her jaw and emphasised the pearl beauty of her skin.  
  
"I dislike it here. It is too dark, too terrible. I do not want to live here."  
  
He turned his face away from her. "I know. I know that you are unhappy. I understand your feelings."  
  
She shook her head, her rich curls swaying out of their elaborate wiring a little more. "No, no - you misunderstand." She said in a glowing rush. "I was about to ask you, why is it that you chose to dwell here, in the company of shadows? You seem to long for warmth and brightness so fervently - why is it that you chose this tomb as your domain?"  
  
He looked at her, surprised. He blinked, shocked that she could show any curiosity about him. She was still walking, trying to ignore his scrutiny - it still clearly made her uncomfortable, in fact, every time she saw him looking upon her intently, she would tremble and look frightened. And yet, he saw the open honesty of her question in her eyes. She always looked so earnest. It moved him.  
  
His voice was grave. "I did not choose."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"After the defeat of the Titans -"  
  
"Oh! My mother has told me this tale of the war against the Titans, and how she was swallowed by her father, the Lord Cronos, as an infant! Athena told me the tale of how the three great realms were divided - I remember now! - although my mother is a better storyteller, I believe. I prefer the way she told it." She said delightedly, her face brightening up.  
  
Hades did not mind her interruption, as the memory had her beaming. He didn't mind that she already knew the tale, to see her momentary happiness was reward enough. Of course, he somewhat doubted Persephone's fervent belief that Demeter was a greater mistress of the spoken story than wise Athena, he made no comment, instead taking joy from the brightness and freedom of her smile.  
  
But of course, she fell silent, her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment for interrupting him, and the colour faded entirely from her cheeks as she remembered her mother. Her mother, who had embraced her. Her mother, who had told her tales and stories of her great family. Her mother, who she might never see again. The ache of her loss, her alienation, her sorrow had flown away to circle her overhead for a brief moment, but now they came tumbling down back towards her. The blow when that loss struck her once more, was difficult to bear whilst remaining perfectly composed. She hated herself for having forgotten her mother and her world, even for a few brief moments. She felt tears pressing.  
  
Hades spoke again, before she could fully sink into silence again. "Are you well, Persephone?"  
  
"No." She said childishly, her voice shaken and thick, as though she was holding back a tide of tears.  
  
"Do not cry, Persephone. Please, do not cry."  
  
"But I want to go home!"  
  
"Would you like me to continue?" he asked, his tone kind.  
  
She snapped her head up and scrutinised him. She looked pensive, behind the frightened tearfulness. She thought of him, of her curiosity and it made her courageous once more.  
  
She gave a wan imitation of a smile. "Yes. No, wait. No. No, I do not desire it, thank you."  
  
Hades said nothing, but nodded in acceptance. His face betrayed no emotion.  
  
Persephone faltered, having no wish in her to hurt his feelings, only to spare her own. "You see, I already know the tale - I do not wish to hear it once more. My mother was the last one to tell me the story and I want it to remain so. It is a precious little something that I have left of her; my memories of her warmth and love. I do not want to hear her telling of it replaced by your own."  
  
Persephone paused, thinking of Hades, and of her mother. She considered apologising to him, but decided against it. Still, she glanced at him, scanning his face for an outward sign of any reaction to her words. She was uncertain what to call the face that looked back at her through the pale darkness.  
  
Hades was hurt but not overly so, for her was soon lost in his own thoughts. He had not spoken of how he had earned his kingdom until now, nor considered ever letting a single soul know of it from his own perspective. He became lost to the throes of memories, to the bitterness of ancient regrets and despair. He remembered how full of hope and dreams he had been - if only he picked the correct straw, then all could be his. The heavens and earth, expansive, glorious, bright, as well as boughs of fresh, innocent life, all the glory and all the potential. . .everything it could have been his. If not, then deep, unfurling, temperamental and beautiful oceans and waters of unending blue could have been his. But no, his luck had been less. Zeus inherited the greatness of heaven and earth, Poseidon inherited the kingdom within the waves, and Hades, unfortunate Hades, had inherited the darkness of the Underworld.  
  
He had never lamented, never cursed his luck, never cursed his fortunate brothers. He had instantly resigned himself to his destiny and pushed down all sadness, regret and longing. He had even shown more grace than the blessed Poseidon, who had sulked and raged at not winning Olympus, oblivious to his other brother's greater misfortune. Now, he began sinking beneath those thoughts, those long-buried regrets and secret sorrows. The enormity of that day now fully hurled itself upon his mind, as he thought how very different things could have been. For the first time, that knowledge haunted him.  
  
Persephone noticed this change in him, she had sensed him become morose and sink in to grim thoughts and feelings. She thought it her own fault and felt instantly remorseful and wanted to make amends.  
  
"My Lord Hades? Are you well? I did not wish to offend you, nor harm your heart. I am sorry." She said and hesitantly, timidly touched his arm, lost under swathes of black robes, with her dainty hand.  
  
He turned towards her. The sudden sadness in his eyes made her sympathetic soul ache. She retracted her hand and held it her own once more.  
  
"What are you feeling?" she asked searchingly.  
  
He did not know how to answer her and before he could form and answer, she ventured, guessing his thoughts.  
  
"How did you feel about your fate, my Lord?" she enquired quietly.  
  
"It is my fate, my destiny. It is eternal and unshakeable."  
  
"Shall I tell you my thoughts?"  
  
He looked at her deeply. "I would dearly like that, sweet Persephone."  
  
"My Lord, I think you are sad."  
  
Silence was the only answer she received.  
  
"My Lord? Are you sad?"  
  
He disliked denying her answers, but the subject made him uncomfortable and that was answer enough for the innocent Spring Goddess. He resented being so reticent, when she was taking the incredible effort to speak to him. It should have been all he desired - his beloved Persephone was speaking to him with sympathy, friendliness and understanding, she was eager to learn about him, and he returned her goodness with cold silences. He was wasting a perfect chance to show her how deeply she was loved, to show her why he deserved her golden love in return.  
  
"You are sad. I know it."  
  
"Ah. As you are sad, my Persephone?"  
  
Was this what she was trying to do? Was she, by bringing up his own sadness at living in such a dark realm, attempting to convince him to release her?  
  
"No."  
  
He looked at her sharply. Had she read his very thoughts has they were born in his mind?!  
  
"No, my Lord." She continued. "I do not think that your sorrow is the same as mine."  
  
Ah. So read his mind she had not accomplished. It was merely a misunderstanding, a misinterpretation of her words, on his part and nothing more. Yet, her words interested him greatly. The gentle green of her eyes burned with a compassionate, almost tender flame. More than beautiful, it was awe-inspiring.  
  
She spoke again, nervous of any attempt to understand him or sympathise him, though that did not stop her from saying that which she needed to say. "My sadness is the sadness of one torn from their element, from all I loved and was and thrust into a place of despair and horror. I have been ripped away from my strength, my lifeline. I am alone and weak without my mother, our bond. . .I miss her terribly."  
  
"I understand your pain, dear Persephone."  
  
"I believe you wish to, and that you see my suffering, but I do not believe you understand, or can ever understand it. If you did understand the agony the agony I suffer lost and without her in such terrifying darkness, then you would understand me."  
  
"Persephone -"  
  
"No, I do not wish to discuss that! That was not my wish! I know you will refuse me, no matter how I plead. It is quite hopeless."  
  
"Persephone. . ." he said gently, almost hating her for making him feel such unjust torment. But he could not feel any bitterness towards her, only love. He hated himself even more for giving her cause for such grief. And yet it was a torture to have a queen he adored who would never return the feeling.  
  
"Let me say what I intended to say, then I will hold my peace, if you so desire. I have told you of my own sadness. I think you are sad, my Lord Hades, but your sadness is different to mine. Your sadness, I think, comes from your dreams of more being rejected, the sadness of one unable to stop how their character is moulded by their destiny. You see the darkness around you and then you see it inside you, as a part of you, as what you are - and you loathe and fear it."  
  
Though he said nothing, he was moved. She had seen what he had not even dared look upon inside himself. He felt as though she was still reaching inside him, her small hand touching his heart, warming it. He looked at her, her open, trusting, faithful face, glowing with innocence. He was helpless.  
  
Knowing not what to do or say to show his feelings, he followed the natural course of his instincts and took a step forward towards her. She sprang back in shock and turned away, her eyes sad and downcast. She had no wish to be cruel. She felt unhappy for turning away from him, yet at the same time, she could not suffer the sickening terror of being any closer to him. She still felt the imprint of his merciless arm around her waist, binding her to him and stealing her away from her light. She still felt the ugly chill of his lips on hers, the night of their cursed marriage. She paled in horror at the memory.  
  
But another memory flourished - the memory of beautiful blue eyes, full of light and emotion and truth, so unlike this entire dead world. It was a strange comfort, though she did not fully understand it.  
  
"Persephone," Hades said "do not speak of sadness. I accept my destiny, as I did those many centuries past. I chose my straw and in that, I chose my fate. Had my decision been different, then my fate would be altered. But it is as it is - there is no changing it. To think about such things is what brings true sadness, my sweet bride, not acceptance or resignation."  
  
"But it is so dark here, so awful!" she cried.  
  
"It may be dark, but it is a great realm, to rival that of Zeus. There are worlds within worlds here. It is a most magnificent kingdom, Persephone, and I am even king to all the riches the bountiful earth has to offer. As Lord of the Underworld and God of Wealth, I wield great power and influence; I am not in any way less fortunate than my brothers, to have been given the precious gift of rule of this domain. I am grateful for my destiny to reign here. Even my mighty brothers decided that my situation was agreeable; that the Underworld befitted my own cold, dark and solitary nature."  
  
"No! If you were naturally dark and solitary then the last thing you could have needed was darkness and solitude! You should have been able to come out into the light!"  
  
"Is the light truly so glorious?" he asked.  
  
"I carry it in my heart even as it trembles in fear here." She said, strongly.  
  
"Then it is glorious."  
  
She flinched, still uncomfortable with him saying such things to her. She had never set out to appear beautiful. She had simply blossomed without being at all aware of it. She knew not how to warm the blood of men, nor did she care to know. Such things only confused her.  
  
"Persephone," he spoke "you must understand, that in this darkness is loneliness for which your light is the only balm. I love you, as I have since I first saw such a soul shine upon me. If you could only let your sorrow die and embrace this kingdom and my loving heart, then you will know happiness. Your presence gives brightness and life to this dreary world, for your laughter to ring through these lonely halls would make the Underworld a paradise."  
  
"I can never appreciate it, my Lord. I shall ask you to return me again and again, each day. I do not want to live here."  
  
"Yet you asked to see more of our realm. Have you changed your mind?"  
  
She was reminded again of her purpose, the mission she had assigned herself. Her heart shook with the force of her sympathy for the dead souls as trapped here as she was. Persephone did not tell Hades that the reason she had showed eagerness to learn of the Underworld was because she felt an affinity for the souls wandering there, not from any resignation to her situation (she refused to think of it as her fate!). The thought that she could say so out of spite never even occurred to her.  
  
"No." she answered, not without feeling a pang of guilt. "My mind is unchanged. Please allow me to explore this dark realm. There is much I feel I need to see with my own eyes."  
  
"Would you desire my company, Persephone?" He asked, unwilling to escort her if it made her so uncomfortable and fearful.  
  
She was surprised that he had asked, that he had given her the option, rather than insisting that they travel together. She was grateful. This time, her smile was not forced.  
  
"Yes, if it does not trouble you. I would like to know of your duties."  
  
His smile was a hesitant, self-doubting thing, almost as though it feared emerged from worry of mockery. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes puzzled her, as if she was a most precious, cherished treasure. He walked and kindly indicated for her to follow, that she was safe from the darkness at his side. She followed, as they departed the lonely balcony and twisted through the desolate corridors.  
  
She was walking through the dark halls of Hades' (and hers, she remembered with a quiet sense of totality) castle, about to see her domain, and grateful for the fact that she didn't have to walk alone. Even the presence of her captor was preferable to the waking nightmare of having to brave the darkness alone. Curiously, she looked up at him, wondering how he could stand it. Looking at him, he seemed so dark, so stern, so cold. She could hardly believe that there was any love in him. And yet, she had seen a tender, guarded heart when first she met him. The very fact that she was trapped at his side was living proof of a nature more passionate than any could ever have guessed. His deep blue eyes were glittering with life and emotion none had ever credited him with. She wondered why.  
  
"Have you ever fallen in love before, my Lord?" she asked, unsure of why she had done such a thing. She did not know if she wanted an answer. She was awkward and gauche in her handling of the fact that he professed such love for her.  
  
He looked upon her with something she couldn't understand. Once again, the pale smile appeared.  
  
"No, Persephone. It has always been you."  
  
She made no reply, but continued following him, subdued in many thoughts. Persephone began to feel her heart spill over with cold dread at the prospect of venturing out into the Underworld. Her own nature, the virtues and flaws of her personality encouraged her towards courage, to see this un- land, to learn what she could, to bring brightness to it, to help others. But fear still had her tight in its sway.  
  
The presence of Hades at her side both comforted and terrified her - to not be alone and unloved made the darkness an easier burden to bear, but her deep-reaching and instinctive fear and uneasiness of him, of all he was capable of, frightened her. In the blackness, a small sense of conflict was born.  
  
The worst fear that preyed on her mind was how much worse the outside of the cold walls must be. And the castle itself frightened her beyond words! How much worse it would be once the pair of them left its grand, black walls. This was her own decision, she reminded herself, but she was sure that, despite her most desperate and brave wishes, she would never cope. The darkness was too much.  
  
Retrieved from her reverie with cold, sharp immediacy, she glanced around, muted by a sense of awe and horror. It seemed to go on forever! Was there no end to it, no end to the fear, to the darkness? She seemed little more than a frightened and overwhelmed child. She caught a thick strand of her chestnut hair in her hair and wound it around her index finger nervously. The darkness stretched, expanded, thickened and deepened. The castle seemed to be as great and unending as the misery of death. Indeed, the castle was immense; there existed room after room after room through corridors, cloisters, tucked away in towers, or hidden in the more shadowed parts of the castle. And most rooms were unused and had not been used for as long as the Lord Hades could remember.  
  
It seemed so strange to her, such a vast home to be so empty. Every inch of Sicily had been filled with love, warmth, fun her mother's presence and memories. She had never been truly alone. For a moment, she thought that it must be terribly lonely to have a huge but empty castle all to oneself. But how she could be expected to make any difference to it was quite beyond her. She suddenly longed for the ability to make it bright and full of warmth and song and laughter. For a wild, benevolent moment, she even - especially, perhaps - wanted to bring light to Hades, despite everything, as he seemed to long for it and seemed so sad in the dark. But as the only audible sounds being the hush of death and her own vulnerable breathing, it seemed an impossible dream.  
  
They turned a corner together, looking almost like the perfect Lord and Lady and descended down a nightmarish spiral of treacherous onyx steps. She didn't trust them to keep her safe. She didn't trust them not to crumble beneath her and send her plummeting down into some swirling black abyss. She didn't trust anything around her. She didn't trust the Underworld.  
  
"Do not be afraid, Persephone. No harm shall ever come to you." Hades' reassuring whisper shattered the blackness and reminded her of life and warmth, that such things could exist in such a domain. After all, she existed down there, did she not? She was queen here, she thought to herself. And yet, she felt certain that she could not exist in such a realm much longer, that she - like any other living creature - was out of her element here and would eventually wither and die.  
  
She walked through the corridors, wary of the penetrating emptiness, the consuming blackness, the harrowing chilliness, and the frightful shadows that clung to the dead walls and leapt at her aura of light whenever she passed. Hades himself saw how her aura of life attracted them to her the way the scent of human blood attracted terrible beasts. The black shades leapt and darted at her light, greedily lapping up what they could, and she was helpless against them, despite being their queen.  
  
He stopped and spoke. "Persephone, you must not fear them. They mean you no harm."  
  
"But they try to consume what little light I have; they weaken me."  
  
Her took her dainty hands in his own. "Let me show you how to dismiss the shadows."  
  
"I can dismiss them?"  
  
His voice was intense, gentle and wise. "You are their queen. They exist to serve you. You may command them to leave you and never trouble you again; they are only under the impression that you welcome them to feast on your light - you must dismiss them."  
  
She was unsure and small. "I-I do not know how."  
  
"Feel your own powers, your own ability, deep within you, the power that can command these shadows, for shadows are all they are."  
  
"How can I command them? I have no power over creatures of darkness, I only know how to bend flowers and nature to my will. I. . .I cannot do this, my Lord."  
  
"Yes, you can." He said warmly, his voice moving through her.  
  
Her voice and mouth shook. "How? I have not the power."  
  
"You have all the power you need, sweet Persephone. In your spirit exists life, spark, potential - trust me, I can help you use it."  
  
She was wary, but somehow, she felt it best to put her trust in him. She nodded and closed her eyes. She felt his presence keenly, felt his will guide her own.  
  
"Now, Persephone. . .feel as you feel when you create flowers, when you allow them to lean toward the sun and blossom. Do you feel that power gather deep within you? Think of these shades as you think of the flowers; for they are no less natural. Do not fear them. Do you feel how your light nurtures them as it nurtures your flowers?"  
  
She trembled. "Yes, yes I do feel it!"  
  
"Now. . .allow yourself to sense their dependence on it, their love of it, their desire to serve it."  
  
She felt her energy gently pinioning outwards, gently touching each shadow. She felt how they served her. Without needing further instruction, she hesitantly but confidently, allowed a fraction of her will to gather up above them. She let her wishes be know through it. She felt them stop, she felt them acknowledge her.  
  
"Do you feel it?" Hades asked, surprised how she quickly, how naturally she had advanced alone. His admiration of her grew and he felt his own spirit channel such affection around her.  
  
He spoke. "Now, dismiss them."  
  
The words echoed in her mind. Dismissed. . . And with that, they were gone, and her light was renewed. She felt stronger, braver, as if she had touched something within herself that she had never encountered before, as if something new and alive in her was beginning to move. It was a new kind of life for her. New life, found in the depths of Underworld.  
  
She opened her eyes to see Hades' eyes. He looking at her with such affection and admiration that it warmed her. She felt pleased that she had succeeded, joyous at his confidence in her, grateful for his aid. Slowly, she smiled at him with kindness. Her smile was full of the light of the sun, it seemed, for it still amazed him. For her to smile upon him so was such a gift, such an honour! For a moment, all loneliness and longing vanished and he was content.  
  
Persephone noticed that her hands were still in his and starting, she withdrew them, again feeling confused and lost. Though this time the darkness did not reclaim her.  
  
"Thank you." She whispered.  
  
He nodded silently and continued walking. However, his presence seemed to linger beside her, almost comfortingly. He sensed that she did not want to extend the moment and yet love and hope swelled in him. The smile on her face, that had for a rare moment, touched her eyes and heart fascinated him. How he longed for her to accept him, to love him!  
  
Persephone walked, feeling a little happier now. For a moment, the despair slid from her, inching off a little, allowing her to see and breathe. Hades' strange eyes still baffled her, how could such light, such rich, tangible colour and texture exist in the Underworld? And in the eyes of its dread ruler, no less? Playfully, she wondered what would be best to compare them too: a stream? The big blue sky? A blue flower of particular depth and prettiness? None seemed to satisfy her innocent musings.  
  
That the thought brought her pain, following soon after. She had felt such warmth for a moment, it reminded her of the bond she shared with her mother. She reached down their golden bond, desperately calling out once more. The cold and the empty silence that greeted her instead or enveloping love, strength and security made her recoil in fear and anguish. It was like a slap in the face. She called out to her mother inwardly again and again. How she missed her mother! How she needed her comforting spirit! How she wanted to go home!  
  
At the end of a huge corridor, Hades stopped and gazed upon her expectantly. The darkness of his hair and robes, the pallor of his skin and the living, breathing colour shining in his eyes startled her. She looked at him, her eyes wide and uncertain.  
  
"Gentle Persephone," he asked "are you ready to behold our great kingdom?" 


End file.
